Like Father, Like Son - TF2 Fanfiction
by SorryCracked
Summary: When Scout joined Reliable Excavation Demolition, he never would've guessed that he would have encountered the most snootiest and frustrating person had had ever met, the RED Spy. The Spy liked nothing more than to insult the newest mercenary and there was no way that Spy was Scout's dad. Yup, 1000% no way. Nope, no reason for Spy to be his dad, well at least Scout hoped so.
1. Chapter 1: Scouting out a Scout

**Heyo! It's Sorry and I really had no idea if I should publish this fanfiction on this account because I mainly do different types of fanfictions. I wasn't sure of writing this either. I really came late to the TF2 fandom, but the characters are very interesting and I definitely want to experiment with their personalities! Anyway, the cover was drawn by me and I'll see how often I can update! I really hope I finish this. I honestly have no idea how many chapters this will be, probably between 15-40? This story is mainly based on the comic version of the RED Spy being the RED Scout's dad instead of the BLU Scout's dad. Also, there will be no shipping/romantic relationships in this (besides from RED Spy & RED Scout's Ma), so if you are looking for that, this story isn't for you. There will be some Gray Mann shenanigans in it too, hope you like it!**

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 **Chapter 1: Scouting out a Scout**

A chestnut haired man wearing a sable baseball cap was kicked back upon his seat, dog tags rattling in his chest. Hot wind blew into his face as dust clung to his skin. Yawning, he turned his head to glance at his driver. She was a rather attractive woman with fair skin, thick crescent moon glasses, jade green eyes, and a lavender dress. He found her very pretty and he sat there, twiddling his thumbs to decide what to do. "We are almost at Teufort, so hold on," she said. This female's name was Ms. Pauling. The van rattled on upon the sooty road as they finally arrived at the place where the adult was gaining his second job, notably with the company, RED, Reliable Excavation Demolition.

Now; he, Jeremy, was never the one to sign up for a "real job." Before he got his new one, he worked at Crazy Tony's Overpriced Used Cars and Underappreciated Pizzeria. Not as a waiter or a cars salesmen, nah he was too cool for that. He was a mascot. Every day he went to work, he'll pull on a pizza costume and then stand outside, twirling a sign around. He had to quit because that place went out of business real quick. Now he was offered a job when Ms. Pauling approached him after he attacked three men with a bat and then sped off. Of course, he had to take it cause his Ma had done so much. His seven brothers had completely moved out of the house, settled down, and started their own family. At least he won't always have to stay at home.

Ms. Pauling opened her door as Jeremy pushed his. Landing on the ground in a comfortable pair of sneakers, average t-shirt, and jeans he looked up. Eight other people were standing next to an archway heading into a building. They were all wearing scarlet red clothes and seemed a whole lot older than him. "Alright guys, meet your new Scout!" she introduced, taking a clipboard and then crossing something out with a marker. "Make sure you're easy on him," she said as she moved to the back of the van and took out two regular sized suitcases.

The "Scout" lethargically observed his fellow colleagues. The first one was a person dressed in a full body suit and ebony straps. They wore a gas mask obscuring their face and had fire resistant gloves. They had a patch showing a flame on their shoulder. The next one was a man wearing circular goggles. He had a belt with some tools and a wrench followed with golden knee pads. A patch with a wrench was etched into the shoulder. After that was a lean man wearing a sharp suit and a balaclava. He had huge pockets on his coat. The fourth one was a huge male that towered over everyone with fingerless gloves and large beefy arms and the next one was a skinny man with an akubra and aviator glasses. He had a symbol similar to an aiming mark. After that was a strong male who's eyes were blocked by a bowl shaped helmet wearing a symbol with a rocket. The seventh person was a brown skinned man with an eyepatch and a bomb shaped patch. Lastly in the line was a male with raven colored hair, a lab coat, and glasses with a medical cross symbol.

"Yo, what's up," Scout greeted, waving his bandaged hand and grinning broadly. "Here's your stuff. Your room's the one with your rank on it," Ms. Pauling informed, setting down the suitcases, throwing him a key, and then heading back to the van. "Wait, wait, Ms. Pauling, uh… you're not busy are you?" the adult began. "I'm sorry, Scout, not right now. I have something to do," she cut him off as she shut the door and then waved goodbye. Zooming off into the distance, the male gaped before turning back to his coworkers.

"Hiya there, I'm the Engineer. I'm one of the mercenaries here in RED," Engineer introduced, extending the hand without the glove. "I'll call ya 'hard-hat' instead," Scout answered as he took the hand and focused on the guy's construction hat. "Mmmph murr mrphurrhur phhr lrr," the gas mask man mumbled, shaking with excitement. "Now, this here is the Pyro and they say that they are pleased to meet you," Engineer smiled, motioning. "Everyone, I want ya to introduce yourself." The man in the balaclava immediately groaned, as if hating every second of this. "Ahem, starting from you, Spy," the man with the construction hat tutted.

"Bonjour, I'm the Spy and that is all you need to know," Spy briefly stated, looking as if angered, irritated, and a bit surprised at Scout. Scout already decided he didn't like this person. "Da, hello leetle man. I am heavy weapons guy, or the Heavy," the huge one grinned and hugged the smaller adult in a skull crushing embrace. Quickly releasing, the runner heaved a bit before angrily mustering," I'm not little!" The other man brushed off statement. "G'day! I'm the Sniper or ya could call me 'Snipes!'" the other one said in an Australian voice. "Hello! I am the Soldier and god bless America!" the man with the helmet introduced loudly with a sharp salute. "Aye, I'm the Demo," the eye patch guy slurred a bit, wobbling slightly. Beer stains splattered his velvet shirt. "He had a bit too much to drink before he came," Engineer sighed, straightening Demo. "And I'm zhe Medic! Pleased to meet your acquaintance," the german greeted, doing a quick bow.

"Yeah! I'm gonna go to my room to put my stuff down first!" Scout exited, taking his bags and dodging past them into the hallway. The building was made of red wood as he took a left down a hallway. "Scout, the rooms are the other way," Engineer corrected, raising his gloved hand up. Huffing a bit, he gyrated the right way and shouted," I knew dat!" The hard hat chuckled a bit as he looked at his fellow mercenaries. "Alright, boys. We have a new Scout and it should be our job to make him feel at home," the texan ordered. "I'll cook him a welcoming dinner." There were cheers amongst the others.

Scout trotted down the various hallways into places with separate rooms. Each one was a darkish burgundy color with a symbol and a name tag. He finally came to the one at the end of the hallway that read "Scout" on a silver tag with a red symbol of a winged shoe. He pushed it open to find a standard single bed with average carmine sheets, desk, light switch, closet, set of drawers, and nightstand. A crimson carpet was laid down followed with a door to a bathroom and everything seemed recently cleaned. He threw his suitcases into a corner and flopped onto the bed. It wasn't too soft or too hard, just how he liked it. Stretching, he stared at the ceiling for a while, just doing nothing.

About thirty minutes passed as the door to his room was open. As Scout went to look at the visitor, he found no one. The hallway was completely empty as he glanced out. Groaning, he assumed that the door was just a bit broken. So much for "perfect room." Shutting it again, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Shrieking, the bostonian turned around abruptly in a freaked out surprise. "I see you haven't packed," Spy observed as he stood there, a waft of smoke exiting from his cigar. "Jeez, don't do dat!" Scout hissed, rubbing his bandaged hand over his face in relief. "Of course, who would suspect you would by how you look," the frenchman remarked, eyes fleeting across the other's body. "Dumpy t-shirt and messy pants. Filthy hat." "Yeah, yeah, and what 'bout you? Cheap suit. Bet it was only worth $5-," the runner shot back before being interrupted by the sneaky man. "I'll have you know that this is a $10,000 custom-tailored louis crabbemarche jacket! The cloth is from silkworms raised on a suit microfarm in Tuscany, from a secret pattern passed down by monk tailors since the seventh century!" he spat quickly, as if he had memorized the description. "Totally, totally," the other replied snarkily. "Is dat just a lie, like your fanciness?" "Listen up, boy. You should know when to talk, or that may or may not be the last thing you ever do," the frenchman said darkly, towering over the smaller male. Before he could say, "Is dat a threat?" the other one faded and disappeared.

"Come out ya stupid frenchie!" Scout shouted, groping his fingers around the room blindly. His hands didn't reach any living thing. Cursing loudly and angrily to himself, he shoved open his suitcases. Digging through it for a specific thing to comfort him, he wasn't able to find anything. "Where is it?" he murmured in irritation. An already flipped up shirt was thrown to the side as he kept rummaging. It was gone. He swore he had packed it; swore that he packed a framed image of his mother and all her eight sons, all smiling at the camera. Sighing, he raised his closed fist to beat at his forehead, hexing his forgetfulness. "Ya okay, son?" a voice came out behind him. He turned around in vexation as he reared back and punched the speaker. His fist stopped a hair length from the Engineer's face.

Dropping his fist, Scout bared his teeth as he forced himself to look into the Engineer's goggles. "What happened?" the texan asked, raising an eyebrow. "None of your business," he brusquely replied. "What is it? Just let the anger out, son," the other murmured, placing a hand on the raging twenty four year old's shoulder. "I don't need to. Nothing happened, hard hat," the runner growled, brushing away the comforting hand. The older male sighed," Alrighty then, here's your uniform. You only get one pair until the next shipment comes, so make sure you wash it every night." He held up a clothes hanger with a comfortable reddish terra cotta t-shirt, murky beige pants, headphones with ear piece, belt, long white socks, a strapped duffel bag looking backpack, and a chain of dog tags. "Dinner is served already, ya ought to get down and eat before you starve yourself." The bostonian took the clothes numbly as he watched the other head down to the dining room.

Scout threw his uniform onto the floor before removing a navy cotton jacket from his trunk. Pulling it over himself, he placed the hood over his head and went on his way to the dining room. Heading through the hallways, he finally found where he went to go. The Spy and the Sniper was nowhere to be seen, yet the other mercs were all seated on large oval shaped wooden table. They stopped their talking and eating once their newest recruit showed up. There was a spot open between the Pyro and the Heavy with a plate filled with food next to some metal utensils. Sitting down, the runner blandly looked at his plate as pure silence emanated in the room. A freshly grilled steak laid on it with a dash of creamy mash potatoes followed with dripping gravy was in one corner. A baked potato stuffed full of sour cream, specks of onions, and shreds of bacon laid next to it. Crunchy french fries were carefully placed next to it, doused in gooey golden cheese. A smaller plate next to it held funnel cake with the perfect amount of powdered sugar and candied raspberries that held a irresistible sugary smell.

Gaping at the amazingly prepared food, Scout forgot about his recent issues and he suddenly remembered his huge hunger. There was a moment of pausing, where everyone was completely still. Then, all of a sudden, he grabbed his fork and buried his face into the heaven of deliciousness. Shoveling the baked potato into his throat, he immediately choked. Spluttering, he hit his fist hard against his chest. There was a loud eruption of laughter among everyone except the choking victim.

As Scout started to hack and splutter more, the Heavy turned to the person next to him. "Doktor!" he bellowed as the german man stood up with his hands doing a "relax" sort of motion. "Ja, ja, ja," he said with a smile as he walked behind the younger male, wrapped his arms around him, then pushed back at the stomach. After a few more pushes, the runner finally swallowed the stubborn piece."Scout eats much but teeny throat couldn't handle, da?" the huge man joked as the Pyro emitted a muffled chuckle.

Scout quickly finished up as he stretched back. He had grown much more comfortable as the room buzzed with conversations. He licked his lips that were stained with raspberry juice and powdered sugar. "Who made this stuff?" he asked, putting his feet on the table and leaning back. "Your one and only," Engineer stated proudly, pointing at his chest. "Dat's pretty damn good, hard hat," he replied with satisfaction. "Well, don't get too comfortable 'cause we rotate cooks every week and today's Sunday."

After hanging around in the lounge, watching TV and drinking a can of Bonk! Atomic Punch (which he found in the fridge); he took a shower and came back to his room in a pair of pajamas. Slipping under the covers, he glanced at the thrown uniform on the floor before slipping into a deep sleep.

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 **Dang it, I wish I was as good as Engineer when cooking.**


	2. Chapter 2: Temporarily Dead

**Thank you guys for the support! This chapter is a bit longer, so hang in there! Scout's doing pretty well for his first day of work. Majority of the beginning chapters are just a bunch of introductions to the different systems. Saint Spy doesn't exist in this fandom, I'm making him as much as a jerk as possible. Six chapters till something happens, so look forward to that.**

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 **Chapter 2: Temporarily Dead**

"Up and about, ladies! Hup, hup hup! Come on, maggots!" a voice loudly shouted, echoing through the hallways. Scout groggily woke up, his eyes drifting to the digital clock on his nightstand. The time read "6:00 A.M.," work was to start at 9:00 A.M. "Oh my god, shut up," he mumbled in annoyance as he put his pillow over his head in hopes to block out the noise. His door was slammed open as the Soldier stood in the bright light. "First day on the job, so get up little girl!" he ejaculated, dragging the newcomer out of bed. "Okay, okay, okay!" the runner said, attempting to escape from his fallen tangled sheets.

Finally getting up, Scout saw Soldier walk out and continue his yelling. Sighing, he fell back down onto his sheets. He couldn't fall back to sleep. Cursing his waker, he lazily removed his pajamas and slipped into his work clothes. Fitting his headphones and earpiece over his baseball cap, he placed his dog tags over his neck. On it, there was an etched shoe with wings and a sentence saying," Property of Reliable Excavation Demolition." Finishing up, he headed for the dining room for breakfast.

Scout immediately stopped as he saw the Spy place the last plate of food. "I'm not eating whatever the hell is on dat plate," he instinctively said. "Guess you'll starve than," the other replied tartly. Suspiciously staring at the food, he saw two croissants, a sliced baguette slathered with jelly, a bough of grapes, half of a peach, and a cup of coffee. The Sniper arrived as he side stepped past the bostonian. He grabbed his plate and coffee before walking out again. "Why can't you clean up that van of yours, bushman?" the frenchman snarkily remarked, eyes narrowing in dislike. The marksman didn't reply except for grumbling under his breath.

The Soldier pushed past Scout, marching toward his part of the table. Sitting down, he began shoveling food in his mouth. "Clean yourself up you fumier de porc," the Spy hissed, eyeing his comrade's stained mouth. The rest of the mercenaries arrived and sat down while Scout stayed stubbornly by the door. "It's not poison, ya know," the Engineer pointed out, taking a gulp of coffee. "I just don't wanna eat dat freak's cookin'," the other one replied with frustration. "Yer better get used to it laddie, Spy's cooking all week!" the Demo stated, drinking a huge bottle of Scrumpy.

Huffing, Scout took his seat at the table and grabbed his croissant angrily. Ripping it apart with his teeth, he snarfed the first bite down with a swallow. The Spy left the room with his own plate as the runner's tensed muscles finally relaxed. "What happened between you and Spy?" Engineer queried, finishing up his slice of baguette. "Sh*t happened, dat's what," the younger male briefly replied, as if not wanting to talk about the subject.

Scout finished his food and drink. After, he had walked out to kinda glance over the where they were to fight. A bridge with a roof and the BLU base. Pretty much the same as the RED base, but made of concrete and… well… blue. A pool of water leading into a tunnel system was under the bridge. An hour passed and all the mercenaries were at the starting room.

Scout reached into his cubby and pulled out a gun, "Scattergun" was written on the handle. Placing it in his belt, he reached in again. Grabbing a pistol and a metal bat, he managed to hold them in his belt with ease. "Alright, can everyone hear me?" Engineer's voice asked over his earpiece. "Yup," the runner replied as everyone else agreed. "Are you okay, Scout?" the older man queried. "Of course! I'm not a scared little girl!" he replied, now noticing his stomach clenching nervously. The contract stated clearly that he wouldn't die on the battlefield, but it never said anything about why.

"Mission begins in one minute," the Administrator called over everyone's ear pieces. Scout tightened his grip on his scattergun. "Don't worry, I felt the same way as ya did when I first started, lad," the Demo assured, eagerly running his fingers over his own launcher, impatiently waiting for their release. "Eventually, yer gonna get excited ta go out and fight." The runner sighed, massaging his butterflies. "Mission begins in 5…" He squirmed a bit as he stood in a starting position. "4…" He glanced to his fellow comrades who all were yearning to head out. "3…" The sounds of longing foot tapping was heard. "2…" Loud shouts were heard from across the RED supply room to the BLU supply room. "1!"

Everyone yelled their war cries (except for Scout) as they thundered outside. The leftover person took a deep breath as he sprinted forward to follow the Heavy and the Medic. They dropped down onto the front of their base and slowly walked over the bridge. The Heavy was using his minigun to take down BLU enemies everywhere. They dropped like flies as the Medic healed up his friend's wounds. A rocket came from nowhere and hit the doctor flat in the face. He exploded into pieces before you could even exclaim," Medic!"

Scout ran toward the leftover pieces of the body in terror. "Medic got exploded!" he shouted to the Heavy in terror. He paused in horror just as he saw the huge man fall to the ground completely dead. There was a myriad of bullet holes over the other's chest. He gaped wide eyed at the foe soldier who smiled wickedly, loading more rockets into his launcher. Even though he had full ammo, he didn't attempt to hit the bostonian. Raising an eyebrow in puzzlement, the younger adult was about to speak before he felt a knife being plunged into his back. He swiftly glanced behind him to see the BLU spy maliciously sneering. The adversary dug his butterfly knife deeper into the other's body. Stinging pain, like the flesh was being set on fire, ran up the injury. Coughing up blood, the young male fell forward; dead as a doornail.

Scout felt the sensation of cool darkness before opening his soft cerulean eyes. He was back in the starting room, completely unharmed. Being attacked still damn hurt, but coming back from the dead was like falling asleep and waking up (except without the sleepiness). He had received worse than just a knife in his back with his time on the streets, so it wasn't really that bad. "Not too bad, da?" the Heavy asked as he rushed out of the door happily. "Yeah… not too bad," the younger male agreed.

From what Scout heard, the thing that brought him back was called "the respawn machine." Speeding off into the battle, he saw the Demoman jump onto the roof of the bridge with some scarlet colored bombs and then hop to the other's bridge. Raising an eyebrow, the runner took a deep breath and started sprinting toward the edge of the base. Taking a flying leap, he landed on top of the roof. He steadied himself as he felt triumph rise in his stomach. Running over to the other side, he hopped up and then flopped to the ground, missing the ledge by a long shot. He landed in front of the cerulean clothed grinning heavy. Dodging to the side, he took out his bat and placed a giant blow onto the back of the enemy's head. A bullet ripped into his arm as he jumped onto the other's back, choking him with his own bat. The huge man grabbed his weapon and then threw him into the water.

Scout's hearing went blurry as he lifted himself from the transparent fluid onto the BLU's tunnel. Heaving a bit, he took his scattergun and sped into the system. An ammo crate and a medkit sat next to each other as he took the kit and then uncapped the navy bottle. Dripping the medicine into his wounds, they healed up and he continued. Sprinting up the stairs, he raced to the intel room (A mercenary told him where it was) and then skidded up the rails. There was a loud beep and he felt two rockets jab into his back followed by an onslaught of bullets, a level three sentry. "Shoot son, y'all slow as molasses," he heard the foe engineer chuckle as the younger male fell dead.

Scout respawned with an exhilarated feeling to get revenge. Jumping onto the roof again, he shot at a few BLUs on the other side with his pistol. Squaring his haunches, he leapt and succeeded to land on the ledge of the opposite base. His counterpart appeared from the starting room. Gasping in surprise, the RED Scout shot and got the other in the chest. Three bullets buried themselves into his leg as he took another shot right into the skull. The BLU mercenary fell as he glanced past the corner to see the sentry. He killed the engineer guarding the machine and then just as he was about to shoot the robot down, a red colored grenade came and blew the thing to pieces. Turning around, he gave a wave to the Demoman before hurrying into the intel room.

Grabbing the cerulean suitcase, Scout sped toward the top floor as the Administrator's voice echoed," We have taken the enemy intelligence." While on the way up in the narrow hallway toward the top, he bumped into something. A denim blue outline appeared of a crouching person, the spy. "Oh no, not again," the runner hissed, shooting him single handed with his scattergun. The enemy landed dead as he kept going up. Nearing the top, he heard an obscure static crackling noise and then he felt a knife being plunged in his back. It was the BLU spy with a golden pocket watch in his hand. He looked very amused as he gleefully shouted," Did you forget about me?!"

"F*cking BLU spy," Scout cursed as he respawned with the sentence," We have dropped the enemy intelligence." "What happened Scout?" the Engineer asked over the ear piece. "It was the f*cking BLU b*stard spy!" he shouted in anger before taking off across the roof of the bridge. "Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!" he heard the Administrator call out as he sped back into the staircase. Taking the intelligence again, the announcement was made. When he got toward the front of the base where the ledge was, he bumped into the enemy pyro. There were muffled laughs emitting from the mute's suit while they raised up their flamethrower. The runner braced himself for the embers, but then the BLU foe fell to the ground, a bullet splitting in his skull. "Yo, thanks pally!" he said as the Sniper replied," My pleasure, mate!"

Scout heard the cheers of his comrades as he went toward his own intel room. "The enemy has dropped our intelligence," came the announcer. Joyful at his good luck, he sped downstairs and quickly placed down the briefcase. "Success! We have secured the enemy intelligence." His scattergun glowed scarlet and vermillion lightning marks sizzled over the weapon. "Nice going, string-bean," he heard Engineer congratulate. "Scout is credit to team!" Heavy shouted. "Vunderful," Medic praised. All mercenaries (except the Spy) complimented the newest recruit's work.

The score tied with both a score of two. Scout was on the way to the intel room once again to make the final push. He was at the stairs into the basement when the Administrator spat," You've failed. The enemy has captured our intelligence." Majority of the enemy team was going the same way out and they met the RED scout, completely alone there. Gulping, the runner turned around to see that he was surrounded on both sides. "Looks like a petite fille is far away from home," he heard a french accent say. "Enough with the talking, let's just kill the RED!" the enemy soldier roared. "Uh, guys. I'm a bit surrounded," the bostonian whispered into his mic. "We know, just keep distracting 'em while we grab their intelligence," Sniper replied.

Scout inhaled loudly before standing straighter and smirking. His insides were wriggling but he refused to show it on his face. "Ya know, you guys really are morons," he dawdled, slowly clapping. "There is nowhere you can go," the BLU medic cackled, rubbing his gloved hands together. The runner heard slight shouting from below. _The RED team._ "Ya probably should look behind you, right about…" the bostonian began, pausing for a few seconds. "Now."

Majority of the RED team launched into a battle with their counterparts. The Spy backstabbed the BLU one and Medic ubercharged Heavy whom were both battling with the opposite ubercharged medic heavy combo. Sniper headshotted his counterpart and the foe soldier exploded Demoman. In this whole fight, the cerulean clad team hardly noticed the RED engineer passing his own scout the intelligence.

Sneaking away from the fight, Scout leapt to the cover of the bridge, the center of both bases completely deserted and empty. "You maggots! The scout took our intelligence!" the BLU soldier shouted. There was a sound of thundering boots and then an arrow suddenly pierced the runner's chest. Toppling down, he briefly heard the other sniper taunt," That'll slow ya down, ya twitchy hooligan!" He felt faint as he landed on the bottom of the body of water, the arrow digging deeper as his back hit the floor. He didn't feel like he was going to die. He felt as if he was going unconscious instead. His vision blurred as the edges went black. As the bostonian began to sink into an oblivious darkness, he felt arms lift him up. He heard rapt and sharp steps of sleek shoes as he was bounced around in his saviour's arms.

Scout's breath rattled in his chest as the arrow was ripped from the wound. He was set onto the ground, chest first. Through his eyelids, he could see a blurred face take a bottle from the med kit and then pour the liquid onto his injury. The main part of his wound closed up and healed, but he was still bleeding freely. Someone hoisted him on his feet and then assisted him to walk up the stairs. "Medic!" came a throaty unclear shout. A minute passed as the runner finally felt the soothing rays of the medigun. His abrasions were healed as the person holding him released him. His vision cleared as he saw Sniper staring at him in concern. The Spy was leaning on the wall, taking a cigarette from his case and lighting it up. Blood splattered the side of his expensive suit, yet he didn't seem to be injured. Medic was there healing him while Engineer was building a dispenser in the corner and Soldier was passing by, checking for enemies.

"Thanks for taking me back," Scout breathed to Sniper. "I didn't take ya back, mate," the other replied. Before the runner could question who, Soldier's voice came over the ear piece,"An ubercharged heavy is coming, so you ladies better be ready!" The runner jolted up in realization and started to sprint toward his intel room, just as the announcer berated," Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence." He went up the stairs and collided with the BLU spy. With anger, he pointed his scattergun up and rammed it into the other's face. Pressing the trigger, the frenchman's head exploded and fell on the ground. As he continued, he heard the same static noise before promptly raising the gun and pointed it behind him. He didn't even have to look as he released the bullet and the sound of agony was heard.

"Boom! I'm back ya dime-a-dozen backstabbing scumbag!" Scout jeered, feeling free after having his revenge. He took off the briefcase and slammed it onto the desk. "Victory," the announcer mused while the runner ran to the front of the base. The BLUs' weapons disappeared as all the REDs' weapons glowed scarlet. "Revenge, ya stupid piece of crap!" the bostonian sneered, shooting the opposite side's sniper. He smiled in triumph as the enemy crumbled to the ground.

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 **My idea is that once a team wins, you call kill the losers like the game. Then the barrier turns off after the period of time between those so the losing team still respawns after they get killed. I'm just doing more of a mix of the game instead of more realistic.**


	3. Chapter 3: Trusting a Spy?

**Woah! Two updates in one day! That's an achievement! *throws confetti* Party at my place everyone! Feel free to leave theories in a review, because I peppered a bunch of hints of future plans. Five more chapters till something big.**

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 **Chapter 3: Trusting a Spy?**

The shift had ended. The first day of the job was done. Scout opened the door to his room and flopped onto the bed. It was somewhat tiring, but it was endless fun. The alive feeling in your veins and the exhilaration of your enemy falling to the ground, dead was such a great thing. He reached toward his nightstand to take the picture of his ma and his brothers again, but grasped nothing. Then he remembered. Groaning, he flipped onto his back and faced the ceiling. Cursing the Spy again, the runner reached into his suitcase and grabbed his sketchbook. He nonchalantly flipped it open as he unzipped his pencil box. Taking a thin pen out, he sketched an image of the Spy's head being blown to pieces from a gun.

"French b*stard," Scout grumbled, shading the edges with his pen. He wasn't the most talented person at drawing, but he was better than everyone else in the base. Well, he assumed he was better. He had never seen anyone draw more than a stick figure. Actually, there was Engineer. He had saw some blueprints laid out for sentries. He couldn't make heads or tails about it, but it was pretty detailed. Yet, machines seemed to be all the texan could draw.

Scout glanced at the digital clock. It read "6:00 P.M." He assumed dinner started at 7 P.M. He wasn't looking forward to a french dinner. Doodling some more, half an hour had passed when he finally put away his drawing supplies and notebook. Stuffing it unceremoniously into his closet, he decided to hop down to the lounge to watch some TV. Opening his door, he gyrated around and locked it before strolling over there.

Deciding to stop down by the kitchen to get some Bonk! Atomic Punch, Scout walked calmly in. Something was baking in the oven when he came in, and it smelled delicious. The scent of melting sugar reached his nostrils as he paused there for several seconds to just inhale. He then opened the mini fridge everyone shared and retrieved a marigold colored can. Plopping himself in one of the old but comfy chairs in the lounge, he cracked opened it and took a swig. Pyro was the only one there and they were on the floor with a unicorn plushie, watching some show of a giant yellow star with sunglasses and pink colored shorts. "You did it, Shimmery Twinkleheart!" an animated chubby girl with freckles and coffee colored hair congratulated. The anthropomorphic star replied," No, you did it, Cinnamon! Because you believed in yourself!" At that same moment, Pyro mimicked the last sentence in his muffled voice,"Behus yush beffmmph!" The runner groaned loudly. "What the crap is this show? You want some good TV?" he demanded impatiently, grabbing the remote off the table and changing the channels. He found the baseball one and set it down. "This is good TV." The flamethrower wielding mercenary grumbled, crossing their arms as they went to playing with their unicorn plush.

"Go… go… go, go, go, GO!" Scout willed as the player on the Red Sox sped forward, past the third base and heading for a home run. Currently, the score was 6-7 with the New York Yankees in the lead. If they made this home run and made a next one, they would win! That was when a baseball flew in out of nowhere and one of the players on the opposite team caught it neatly. The Yankees had won. "Damn it! F*cking Yankees!" he cursed, throwing his baseball hat onto the ground. Coming out of his raging stupor, he inhaled deeply and picked up his hat. "Oui, Scout, Pyro; it's dinner time," Sniper said outside the door. He then kept walking forward.

Scout shut off the television and followed Pyro and Sniper reluctantly to the table. The Spy was there, placing a thin pot of flowers (from god knows where) onto the middle of the circular table. "Gentlemen, dinner is served," he said, taking his plate and heading to his room. Instead of sitting down, Sniper took his own (just like the Spy) and went somewhere in the base. "Hey, where does Snipes go when he eats?" the baseball player asked to his fire retardant suited coworker. The other muffled something that was incoherent. "The fellar just heads to his van. He sleeps there, eats there, for god's sake; he probably pees there," Engineer joked, coming in as well and sitting at his seat. The rest of the mercenaries began to file in and took their appropriate places. There was "Coq au Vin" (the Spy had told Sniper the name) which was a roasted duck, gravy, potatoes, carrots, and slices of chicken with a sprinkle of garnish upon it. Next to it was a smaller plate holding a flan with whipped cream.

Scout grumbled, grabbing his fork and then stabbed it into the duck before taking a bite and chewing slowly. Surprisingly, the duck wasn't half bad. It certainly wasn't as delicious as Engineer's cooking, but it definitely wasn't horrible tasting. It turned out he was the last one to finish his food. While everyone left the room, the runner placed his dish into the sink. "I assume you liked it, no?" a voice said behind him.

Scout whipped around to come face-to-face with the Spy who was casually leaning against the wall, smoking. He hated how nonchalant he looked and how capable he was to sneak up on him "Shut it, frog legs," he groused, pushing past the older man. "I've tried to be friendly with you but you are too much of an imbecile for me to do so," the frenchie sighed turning away. Something about being called an imbecile made the bostonian's temper spark. He chased after the red suited figure and turned him around. "Why don't ya ever shut up? Ya already made me so mad and I just came yesterday! What reason does your fancy ass have for talking to me like this?"

The Spy blinked slowly, as if he was processing this information. He even seemed like he was holding something back. "I can say the same about you, fils," he replied calmly with the tone of someone who would be talking about the weather. "What the heck does dat mean?" Scout asked impatiently shaking him. "It's amusing how incompetent you are," the other simply stated, pushing him aside and continuing back to wherever the hell he sleeps. The runner didn't know what "incompetent" meant either.

Scout went back to his room and took a set of pajamas. Heading to the showers, he removed a fluffy white towel on a rack. The showers was a large rectangular room, the size of two living rooms. Ten stalls were set up, five on each side and in the middle was a short wall that came half up to the ceiling. There were racks on both sides with clothes hanging off of them. The last night he had came, he just showered in a random stall because no one was there. Today, Soldier was getting ready to get in.

"This is my stall and you will not touch it, private!" Soldier bellowed, pointing at one at the far end. Scout had to use all his might to stop himself from saying he used it last night. "That is yours, so get to it tiny cupcake!" he continued, jabbing his finger at the second to last one on the right side. "Why can't I just use anyone? You're not my Ma," the stubborn younger adult asked, crossing his arms. "Are you ignoring the word of your general?" the American enthusiast demanded skeptically. "Yes, whatcha gonna do? Cry about it?" "Negatory! I'm going to saw off your hands and stick them down your throat, maggot!"

Scout shrieked as Soldier actually lunged at him, grappling him with his strong hands. The older man managed to raise the younger one by the neck. Drawing back his arm, he went for a hard face punch before someone cleared their throat behind them. "Ahem, am I interrupting?" the Spy asked politely, standing there in the doorway wearing a persian bathrobe and holding a set of clothes. "Spy! Please help! He-" the bostonian began, his sentence being cut off as the rocket shooter tightened his grip on the other's neck. "This poor excuse of a mercenary refuses to listen to me!" the larger man berated, his hand raising up to punch the young man.

The Spy sighed with a slightly amused glint in his eyes. "Soldier, please stop choking Scout. We don't want to kill him right when he came yesterday." Huffing, Soldier placed down Scout with surprising gentleness. Ringing his arms around his neck, the youngest male asked," Wait, is the respawn thingy up?" The frenchman informed calmly," No. After ceasefire is called there is no respawn barrier, or as you may call it in your limited vocabulary, 'thingy.' Plus you may now kill and injure your teammates. Though, the medigun and dispensers still work." "Oh," was the only thing the runner could reply.

"Anyway, I really should be getting ready," The Spy calmly stated, placing his clothes on his rack and going to the stall next to Scout's. Scout sighed before grabbing his own stuff and heading into his shower. After finishing, he retreated back to his room and dug around in his closet for his sketchbook. "Oh crap, not again."

Scout really should clean his room and unpack everything. He looked around inside the closet and couldn't find his sketches. That sucked. Yet, he was able to retrieve his pencil box, which was sitting on the wooden floor of the area. Pencils and pens were no good without paper, so he just shoved them back in. His luck was just amazing today. Flopping down, face first onto the bed, he groaned loudly. He was so… well… bored. Flipping over, the bostonian sighed, pressing his pillow over his face. It was 9 P.M. right now and Soldier will probably wake everyone up with his shouting. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sleep. After tossing and turning in his covers for half an hour, he finally rose up and then trudged around the base.

Scout lethargically shuffled across the smooth wood floor, looking for the medical bay. Perhaps Medic can go and give him some pills or something to help. He hadn't communicated a whole lot with the German, but he was the one to help him after literally choking on a piece of food so he couldn't be that bad. There was a little hallway with some tangerine colored chairs pushed to the side. A stray black sign that said," Now serving," along with a column of zeroes next to it was on the wall. He assumed it was some kind of waiting room. Pushing open the mint tinted double doors, he was greeted with the smell of alcohol mixed with a hint of blood.

Medic was at his table, sifting through some paperwork with a hand running through his slicked black hair. He held his pen with a delicate, but iron fist as he flipped a packet to the side. The German didn't seem to notice his current guest. Scout strolled forward and greeted," Yo, whatcha doin', doc?" The older man's eyebrows shot up as he started, placing a hand on his chest. "Scout, please do not do zhat," the doctor stated breathlessly, surprised pants straightening out. "Sorry, man," the younger male replied. There was a moment of silence.

"Vhy are you here?" Medic asked, returning to his papers. A packet with Soldier's face on it was tossed into a pile. Scout watched with fascination as his co worker scrawled some words on some lines of another packet with the Spy's face plastered in front. "Uh… I can't sleep tonight and I know Soldier's gonna wake us up tomorrow super early so can I get some pills or somethin'?" The doctor rubbed his forehead as he wrote more things. "Did you even try to close your eyes for a vhile?" "Yeah, it wasn't workin'." The older man reluctantly stood up and rummaged through a cupboard. Taking out a small yellow tinted bottle, he unscrewed the lid and shook out one pure white circular pill.

"Eat zhis before you go to bed," Medic tiredly drawled, handing Scout the medicine and going back to his desk. "'Kay, thanks, doc," the younger male said as he turned around and popped the small chalky object into his mouth. His eyelids immediately begun to feel heavy. _Damn it, I didn't think it woulda worked that fast._ His eyeballs began to sting and his movements became slow and sluggish. _Please tell me I'm going to make it back to my room._ The bostonian found that he was a bit lost around the winding corridors and with his forgetfulness coupled with the sleepiness he was bearing, he literally couldn't remember any way back.

Scout leaned against a random door, not paying attention to what the sign said. Stumbling a bit and knocking his hand on the wood frame, sleep got the better of him as he fell to the floor in an unconscious daze. Just when his vision was fading to black, the door was opened by an irritated person and a sigh was heard. Then, he slipped into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: A Lot of Damage

**WOOO! I just got done with the big chapter and I pretty excited to show you it! This chapter is a teensy bit shorter than the others, no promise that the next chapter will be longer. Four more chapters till the big one! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: A Lot of Damage**

Scout cautiously stepped on a floor of wood. It made a slight creak as he wandered among light bright yellow plastered hallways that made up his Ma's home. There was a doorway with the door ajar. Creeping toward it, light flittered from it as he peered through it. There was a spacious rectangular room and a shamrock colored carpet. Toys such as a stuffed bear and monkey, train, and baseball laid scattered around while a lamp stood in the corner. A vermillion recliner was placed next to a window, but that wasn't the main thing about the room. The major thing was a small baby wearing a t-shirt with a monster wearing a beret and two people standing around the recliner. Those two people was the runner's Ma and the RED Spy.

Scout jolted up from his bed, his blanket strewn across the floor in an accidental fashion. Rubbing his jaw, his breaths came up in pants. "What the hell was that?" he asked out loud, voice echoing in the empty room. His stomach constricted painfully as his mind drifted back to his dream that was disappearing fast. _The Spy. The RED Spy, was his dad?_ He paused as he sat there, pondering over this thought. Yeah, he was crazy. His emotions were interrupted by a loud banging on the door. "Up and about, private!" Soldier demanded. "I'm up already!" came the bostonian's reply. "Already up? See, this is what I expect from a soldier!" the rocket shooter yelled out to the inhabitants snoozing in the other rooms.

Scout dressed up in his work clothes. He hadn't remembered to wash them, but it really didn't matter anyway. Just a bit dirty, so he didn't care too much. Stepping forward, he inhaled and exhaled loudly. He really didn't know how he managed to end up back at his bed again. From what he could account for last night, he didn't make it back to his room. Eh, he might've just sleep walked. He really didn't care too much. Heading to the lunchroom, he managed to tolerate sitting down in his spot and eat the food the Spy had cooked. He still was an assh*le, but at least the frenchie had saved his life, or well… from lots of pain. The Spy, for once, was sitting at the table and eating. "What brings ya to eat here, Spah?" questioned Engineer.

Spy paused, in the middle of chewing on a crepe. He swallowed slowly and said," My room has been far too stuffy to eat there, labourer." Then he slipped in a nonchalant," It's probably because of Scout living next door." "Why don't ya say dat to my face, frog legs?" Scout replied angrily, tightening his fist around his fork. "Look at you, you haven't even washed your uniform. There are stains peppered all over it," the sneaky man observed, taking another forkful of crepe. The runner glanced down at his clothes. There was literally no difference in the red hue, the man must be lying. He was about to spit back a retort when the Engineer cut in.

After finishing breakfast, Scout just hovered around before deciding to see Sniper. Heading out to through a door onto the back area of the base, he spotted a beaten up camper. He knocked loudly on the shut door. There was silence. He was about to knock again when he suddenly heard a shifting and a groan. Footsteps approached it and the door was flung open to see Sniper. His akubra was crumbled a bit and his vest was wrinkled as he leaned on the door. "What do ya want?" he asked, his face needing a washing. "Oh, hey, Snipes! Just uh… wanted to see how ya doin'!" the bostonian greeted awkwardly.

Sniper didn't seem as friendly as he regularly was. Wiping his eyes, his rough voice murmured," Go away, I'm tryin' ta sleep 'ere." "Ya know, you're lucky Soldier doesn't barge into ya room and shake ya till ya wake up," Scout responded, twiddling his thumbs. The aussie chuckled at this before stating," Eh, I usually wake up early anyway. Make m'self a cup o' coffee for the mornin' before going to grab my breakfast. Eat in me van, though." The boy nodded animatedly as the older man talked.

"So, what do you want?" Sniper asked, staring down at the shorter male. There was no way Scout was going to say he just wanted to visit the other, so instead he blabbered," Well, never met with a real australian before! Ya know- uh... just wanna see how ya live and… uh... see who has the bigger guns!" in an attempt to make him look cooler. "So, can I look inside?" The aussie remained unconvinced, but he just sighed and stepped aside to admit the smaller man in.

Hopping forward, Scout took a gander at the inside. It definitely looked pretty cramped, for a tiny table and chair was set up on the right side while a sink and a cupboard was on the left. There was a ladder leading to a higher elevation with a bed on top. Various jars filled with stark mustard colored liquid littered the living area. "Oh god! It smells like piss in here!" the runner shouted, holding his nose. It looked fine, but the smell was awful. Sniper didn't say anything, but just seemed as if he was awaiting something with a tense and amused anticipation. "What's in these jars anyway?" the younger male queried, taking one off the counter next to the sink. "It's called 'Jarate'," the aussie replied, his mouth struggling to hide his laughing grin. "Is dat a drink, or…?" the other asked as shook the contents inside the mason and examined it. "Nah," came the sharpshooter's reply. Before the bostonian could ask what 'Jarate' was, his coworker answered with," It's me piss."

Coughing and spluttering in disgust, Scout dropped the jar and wrung his hands on his shirt. "Gross! What do ya do with it and why do ya keep it!?" he frantically spat, attempting to wipe his bandages, believing that Sniper's pee had infected them. "I throw it at people. Really helps with seein' those damn bloody spies. 'Sides, how am I goin' to snipe if I have to go to the bathroom every five minutes?" Sniper explained, laughter edging in his voice as he pushed all the jars into a cupboard.

After visiting Sniper, Scout hurriedly headed back to his room and washed his hands for the seventh time. Glancing at the clock, he took in the time, "7:57." Deciding to go over to the lounge, he went into the kitchen and retrieved a can of Bonk! As he passed over the threshold, he opened the can with a satisfying crack and then... tripped over an outstretched fancy shoe. The bostonian fell forward, his drink tumbling out of his hand and spilling all over the ground. Liquid pouring over the wooden floors, he wiped his face from it and groaned loudly. He looked up to see Heavy, Demoman, and Pyro sitting on the couch and watching TV. "Oops, I didn't notice the little ragged bunny scuttling over my foot," came a snooty voice.

Scout froze as he just paused. His fists slowly curled as he straightened up rather steadily. Staying still for about a moment, his gaze concentrated on the ground. Then he just turned around and punched Spy in the face. "You son of a b*tch!" the younger male shrieked in anger as Spy's cigarette fell from his mouth and his nose began to bleed. Demoman, Heavy, and Pyro attempted to drag the bostonian off the frenchman simultaneously. "Ach, laddie! Calm down!" came the scott's voice. "Lemme get him!" the newly recruited mercenary called out, hands grappling in hopes that he can reach the other man. There was strangely a glint of hope and relish in the stealthy male's stormy blue eyes.

Scout was dragged back by his fellow mercenaries, growling and hissing like some wild animal. He finally managed to pry off the others' grips before rushing forward and wrapping his bandaged hands around Spy's neck. "Leetle Scout get cleaned up now?" Heavy suggested nervously, pushing the smaller man towards the door. The bostonian was about to refuse when he noticed his drenched shirt. Sighing in defeat, he stomped away much to the delighted hum of the frenchie. As the runner went on his way, he bit his lip hard while heading to the showers/bathroom. Turning on the tap, he gnashed his teeth while removing his bandages. Soft shoe noises sounded behind him, but he was unable to overhear it over the rush of the water. A faded bullet hole wound shown in the light of the lightbulb in the room. Scout's right hand had the hole implanted on the back of his palm while a long jagged scar ran down his left. Cringing and inhaling deeply at the same time, a memory flashed across his eyes. The speedster ran his hands under the sweet cool water, skin feeling exposed without the bandages. He wiped at his shirt with some paper towels, not doing much against the stain that spread over around the collar. He dried his hands and face from the leftover Bonk!, then went and retied his bandages over his skin.

Scout rolled his shoulders back as he pressed his hands onto the ridge of the sink, taking deep breaths. _That french son of a b*tch and human piece of trash._ He had finally considered Spy a person, but… of course, the frenchman had to ruin it! It was only his third day too! Continuing on, he rubbed his face and went out. "Maybe Spy had gone back to his room," was a hopeful thought that fluttered through his head. When he headed back to the lounge, the bostonian didn't notice the hiss of a decloak.

* * *

 **How did Scout get that scar and bullet hole? I wonder? Don't worry, that'll be released some day.**


	5. Chapter 5: Missed a Critical

**Wooh! This chapter will be shorter than my other ones, so sorry about that, but I promise the next one will be longer! I apologize for not updating in about a week. I just finished writing "the big chapter" and I wanted to take a little break. Anway, I am planning to upload some of my TF2 one shots, so look forward to that (It has some more Spy and Scout stuff and I'm hoping to do more stories from other merc's POVs)! Hope you like this chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Missed a Critical**

"Mission begins in thirty seconds." The Announcer's voice echoed in everyone's ear pieces as all the mercenaries prepared for the battle. Soldier grabbed his rocket launcher, Medic straightened his coat, and Sniper reached into his cubby for his sniper rifle… and then grabbed a bow followed with a quiver instead. "Yo, snipes, what happened to your sniper rifle?" Scout asked, swinging his Scattergun around casually, ignoring Spy entirely. The marksman grinned as he tapped his bowstring experimentally before slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm just not usin' it. A man can't have more than one gun?" he replied cleverly. "Does everyone else have more than one gun?" "Yup." "Well why can't I?"

"Listen, boy, Ms. Pauling should have told you about the weapon system. I'm surprised you haven't heard it over your giant ears," Spy said, taking a cigarette from his case and lighting it. Scout's mind drifted back to the car ride. She might've said something about it… it was just he was too stuck in the pools of her turquoise colored eyes. "O-Oh! Yeah, dat! Yeah, Ms. Pauling told me and I heard her!" the runner blabbered. "Imbecile," the frenchman muttered. "If the Administrator is happy with your day's performance, than you may or may not receive a weapon. It is delivered through a crate with your class's symbol on it."

Just because he wasn't listening, doesn't mean he was an idiot. Scout cracked his knuckles as the Announcer announced the start of the match. With everyone yelling their battle cries, Scout shouted gleefully," Eat my dust!" while he slid through the door with a head start. He hopped onto the roof with ease (but not as much gracefulness). The BLU Soldier launched from the roof by a rocket jump and a shovel appeared from his belt. The runner managed to dodge the other by a hair, but it caused him to tumble a bit down. He rose back up and looked up at the older male before being whacked hard in the face with a shovel.

Respawn caught Scout as he came back with a slight ache in his head. Rubbing the raw spot, his shoulders drooped when he heard the Administrator say," Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence," words dripping with disappointment. He flipped his Scattergun around, biting his lip to think of something he should do. Deciding to wing it, he fled out of the resupply room and then onto the roof again. Luckily, the BLU Soldier didn't appear while he aimed to hop toward the enemy's base. He missed the jump. _Of course._ Well, it didn't matter too much because no one was around for some reason. Entering toward the stair area to lead to the way into the enemy's intel room, a grenade dug right next to his left shoe. The bostonian was launched into the air and rammed into the stairway leading into the basement. Tumbling down, his head split into a headache while blood dripped down his lips adding more pain to his badly gashed left leg.

Scout coughed loudly, more of the vermillion liquid spilling out on the concrete floor. There were footsteps of shoes as the enemy Demoman grinned with triumph. He raised his grenade launcher up and then his body froze in place. Whiteness covered his body with a tint of cyan as Spy stepped out from behind his victim with a smug smile. "You welcome," he mused, taking a long drag from his cigar. "Shut up, I would've respawned anyway," the bostonian replied with a rasp coldness. "Tut, tut, calm down petite lapin. What stops me from leaving you here with your broken leg? I can easily just go off with the intelligence and no one would know you're down here as you sit in your own agony." "I can just kill myself." "Oh, how foolish of you. Don't you remember, due to the protective barrier, you are unable to injure yourself or your teammates?" There was a hollow silence. "I f*ckin' hate you," the runner finally said.

Spy shrugged as he walked off into the intel room, away from the writhing and bleeding Scout on the floor. Scout glanced over to the medikit that laid fifteen feet away. If he could just drag himself over there, then he didn't have to rely on the French b*stard. As his vision blurred, he stared down at the floor. When he looked back up, Spy was in front of him with the BLU's intelligence on his back and the health pack in his hands. "I thought you were goin' ta leave," the runner stated. "Well I can if you like me to," came a smooth reply. The younger man didn't say anything back as he watched the other one open the kit and then remove a bottle. Uncapping it, he dropped the medicine on the wounds, the flesh redistributing on itself and closing up.

As Spy worked, Scout couldn't comprehend his rescuer's personality. "Why?" Scout asked while Spy worked. "What do you mean by 'why'?" he asked. "You saved me two times, but you are a d*ck to me. Dat's what I mean 'bout 'why'." There was no reply. "Spy?" The frenchman finished patching the runner up before he stood up and walked away. "Spy!?" The taller male just kept going and went towards the sewers with the intelligence, leaving the bostonian behind. There was something that Spy wasn't answering… and he needed to get to the bottom of this.

About a couple of hours later, the BLUs and the REDs were tied and only one team had to capture the intel one more time before one of the team wins. Scout's luck had turned and he had the BLU's intelligence and he was so close to the end. His teammates' cheers echoed in his ear piece (except for Spy's, he had strangely gotten silent for the entire match) as he ran down the stairway into the basement. He appeared in front of the desk and was about to take the briefcase off to slam it down in triumph when the Announcer hissed," You've failed. The enemy has captured our intelligence." He was _so_ close…

"Nothing to be ashamed of, it isn't like you have just made the team lose, just because you were too slow. Weren't you supposed to be fast?" said a voice. There was the sound of a decloak as Spy appeared, smoking his cigarette. How had Scout not smelled the smoke? "Well if you just handed me da intelligence first, we would've captured it faster!" he argued back. "Yes, of course. I'll hand it to a ten year old who didn't know what he was doing. You would've died anyway." Fuming, Scout left the room to head back to the housing area of the base. He failed to hear Spy mutter," Têtu... tout comme sa mère…"

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 **Hint: The french in this story will give hints onto the future plot. Also, I don't know french and I just google translated it, so sorry if it isn't the proper way to say it!**


	6. Chapter 6: A Spy 'Round Here

**Oh my goodness, sorry the story is taking so long. Recently, school started back up for me so I don't have much time to work on it. I currently have the plot under wraps and I got it mainly all worked out. Apologize for the wait, I'll see if I can do at least one chapter a week. Anyway, enjoy and only two more chapters for the big one!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: A Spy 'Round Here**

It's been a week and Scout was pretty happy that the cooks had changed. Yet, he wasn't very happy with Heavy's cooking skills. It turned out the burly man wasn't able to make anything too well and had quite the trouble with slicing veggies and meat due to his overly large hands. He still had his skill to make amazing "sandviches." Though, if you have been eating sandviches for three days, it gets kinda boring.

After work (it had been a win that day), Scout casually strolled into the dining room with a loud yawn. It was 6 P.M. and Heavy was busy in the kitchen. Entering, he watched Engineer reaching into the fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. "Yo, Engie," the younger male greeted with a brief raise of his hand. "Well, heya, String-bean. Using a new nickname, huh?" "Well, if ya like me ta call ya 'hard-hat' instead, then that's fine." He turned to Heavy who was retrieving some bibb lettuce from the fridge. "Hey, Tons-a-Fun!" the bostonian greeted as he came to stand next to the bigger man.

"Hello, leetle man," Heavy grumbled in response. He didn't like that nickname too much. "Anyway, can ya make somethin' else?" Scout quered while watching the other male begin to untie a bag with a loaf of bread inside. "What does tiny baby mean?" "Sandviches get kinda borin' ya know." "Do not insult sandvich." "I just mean dat we can have an actual dinner! Ya know, like some fried chicken!" The bigger man rubbed his chin in thought, "Maybe Heavy make pasta, like mother used to." "Did I just hear something 'bout pasta?" barged in a voice.

Engineer approached Heavy with his eyebrows raising in interest. "Da. Mother made pasta with beef and onion and pepper," the other replied. "Well, if ya need help with cooking, ya can ask me. Irene always been saying that my pasta was always the best. Though, I mainly just cook spaghetti," the texan helpfully stated. "Mother used spaghetti to cook. Heavy don't know how. Maybe Engineer can help?" "Sure thing, pardner." Scout smiled slightly, placing his hands on his hips as he watched his coworkers getting along. That wasn't the only reason why he felt joy, it was also the fact that he'll get some real food tonight.

One hour later, all the mercs were sitting at the table (surprisingly including Sniper and Spy). Heavy and Engineer were being congratulated for their amazing work. Nine plates were all laid out with spaghetti and meatballs followed with a plate of a rectangular chocolate looking flat cake with an engraved RED symbol on it which Heavy called "Tula gingerbread." Everyone was enjoying themselves including with Spy telling others how they could brush up. "Scout, properly eat your spaghetti," the frenchman demanded, watching as the younger male shoveled food instead of doing it "the proper way" (which was to twirl the fork into a ball of food and eating off it). "There's no 'proper way' in eating good food!" Scout debated. "It's simple etiquette. Who taught you it, a rat? No wonder why you don't have a girlfriend." "Oh, dat's the last straw." The runner lunged over the table for the other man, but he was restricted by Heavy. "When was the last time you washed your shirt?" the frenchman asked, words laced with disdain as he eyed the younger man's clothing. The runner glanced down at his shirt, which was riddled with stains, but they weren't too big. "A week." Spy made a sound which was a mix between a disgusted and angered gag and retch. Before he could start ranting, there was a sucking noise that drew everyone's attention.

Pyro had inserted their fork into the mouth of their gas mask. With a slurp, the spaghetti noodles went right through the holes as the sauce splattered among the table. "Putain d'enfer!" Spy cursed, standing up and hurriedly wiping at some of the sauce that got on his suit. More french words spewed out of his mouth like rapid fire as he angrily hissed at the poor pyromaniac. Scout couldn't help but laugh at the older man's reaction. "Et toi! Tu ferais mieux de nettoyer ta chemise!" the frenchie demanded pointing a finger at him. "I can't understand your garbage language, man!" the runner snickered loudly. "Clean…. your... shirt..." Spy seethed, saying each word very slowly. "Why should I?" the younger male challenged between periods of chuckles. "Vous imbéciles! Vous n'avez pas lavé votre chemise pendant une semaine! Je devrais mettre une balle entre tes yeux pour être un idiot stupide. Bien sûr, le mercenaire le plus jeune de l'équipe sera le plus insensé!" There was a cough that brought Spy back to his senses. He took a deep inhale, used a napkin to wipe at the spots where the sauce landed again before leaving his half finished plate for the bathroom. "Don't worry. Spah will come back," Engineer comforted, patting Heavy's shoulder.

Dinner had finished and Spy didn't come back, but Scout couldn't care less. He slung his work clothes on the floor and headed for the showers. Going into his own stall, he took a quick one before slipping into his pajamas. When he came back into his room, he found his work clothes folded up on his bed. It smelled like soap and all stains had disappeared, leaving a bright vermillion hue. Someone had washed them. _Probably Hard-hat._ He was honestly grateful for the soft spoken texan's presence at times. He placed them on the floor and then rolled into the covers and slipped into sleep.

It was the next day and Scout had just finished breakfast and was getting ready for work. Slipping on the clean uniform, he glanced at the wrapped sandvich on his nightstand. He didn't finish it, but it'll be an okay lunch. They didn't really receive packed lunches at work, it was more of just eating leftovers from breakfast or last night's dinner. Lazing around in the lounge, he was watching some more baseball, can of Bonk! in his hand. He was so intent on his game, that he didn't notice the sound of flapping wings.

Scout's eyebrow raised when he heard a "coo." Tilting his head up, he saw a pure white dove with bloodstains on it. "Why, hi there little fella," he coaxed in a high pitched voice as he brought a finger up to the bird. It looked at his hand, then back at him, before promptly hopping onto his finger. Glancing back at the TV, he watched as the Red Sox was starting to make a home run. The dove ruffled its feathers as if excited. "Woah, man. You on da Red Sox's side too?" the bostonian asked with happiness. The bird replied with a coo. Nodding, he reached into his pocket and took out his half eaten sandwich; then he took a bit from the bread. Feeding it, he watched the animal eat it quickly with relish.

Footsteps sounded outside the room. Medic came barging in, looking as if he had just fallen down a gorge and barely caught himself. Panting, he looked widely around the room before seeing Scout and relaxing. "Archimedes!" he shouted with relief. "Archimedes?" Scout wondered, stroking the dove on his finger. "My dove." "Did you feed him?" the german urgently requested, striding up to the bird. "Uh… yes?" the bostonian replied, adding a sheepish grin. "Archimedes can only eat bird seed! He can't handle digesting food other zhan zhat!" "I think you're reacting too much," the runner nonchalantly stated, eyeing how perfectly healthy Archimedes looked.

Medic waved his hands around and started cawing. Almost immediately, Archimedes left Scout's finger and landed on the older man's shoulder. Scout's mouth gaped before closing his mouth. "So… you can talk bird…" the bostonian began slowly, eyebrow cocking. "Vell, dove, but yes," the german replied while clearing his throat. "Anyvay, I vill need to you to be outside my office at 2:00 P.M. on Saturday." "Yeah…" the runner murmured absentmindedly, attention being caught again by the television. "Scout?" "Sure, sure, doc!" the younger male waved, smiling at the sight of the lead the Red Sox had gained. The doctor adjusted his coat and left the room.

"Mission begins in thirty seconds." It was about thirty minutes later and the mercenaries were all back inside the starting room, clutching their weapons. Scout patted the bulge on his pocket, where his sandvich laid. "Today's gonna be the day, I can feel it!" he smiled cockily, fingers running over the ridge of his Scattergun. "Mission begins in ten seconds." Soldier and Demoman smirked at each other, as if they had some secret plan only best friends would have. Spy… well… Spy was argueing with Sniper… again. The Announcer counted down, and when it came to an end, everyone rushed out. "Play ball!" the bostonian shouted, striding in front of everyone and out of the room.

Demoman placed some stickies in the front of the base and with a thumbs up to Soldier, he detonated them. Both of them shot up in the air and landed on the other side at the BLU base. They then ran in. Just as they disappeared down the hall, he noticed that the enemy Heavy had managed to mow down the defendants on the bridge. No one was there to stop them from entering into the RED base, well… except for him.

Scout bared his teeth and slipped off the ledge gracefully. Turning in the air, he aimed and pressed the trigger. The bullets buried in the Heavy's side as he roared with pain. Screwing his eyes, he turned around slowly, minigun whirling, but it was too late. A bullet planted straight into the BLU's skull. He landed in the ground, dead as the bostonian stood above him, victorious. "Today ain't yer day, pancakes," he taunted, kicking the other's head. A second later, the Administrator pleasantly chirped," We have taken the enemy intelligence." He leapt onto the top of the bridge and onto the top of the foe's base.

That was when Scout noticed the enemy Sniper standing on the bridge, having not noticed him. Creeping toward him, the younger male grinned wickedly as he grabbed his bat. He pointed his finger up to where he was aiming, eyes scrutinizing each detail. Then, he securely held his bat in both hands and swung. "Wow, dat's a home run!" the bostonian exclaimed, watching the BLU Sniper's carcass sail in the air and land on the roof of his base.

After admiring his handiwork, Scout headed off to help whoever had gotten the enemy's intelligence. While passing the spawn door, the foe Soldier and Sniper came out and spotted the RED Scout. The rocket wielding opponent immediately fired a rocket, which the bostonian managed to dodge narrowly. Though, he was still in the blast radius and he was launched off his feet to the wall. A bullet from a SMG lodged itself into his hip. Landing on top of the hay in front of the spawn door, he coughed loudly, spitting out a tooth that had been chipped out. The runner waited for death before a rocket with a scarlet hue landed down and exploded the enemies to pieces.

Soldier landed next to Scout with the intelligence on his back, bearing a huge grin. Demoman walked up from behind him, hoisting his grenade launcher on his shoulder. "Thanks, pallies," the younger man gratefully gasped out as the scott assisted him to his feet. Going into the room with a slanted floor to the intelligence, he took a cerulean colored bottle and uncapped it. Placing the medicine over his wounds, the bostonian inhaled deeply, relaxing as his wounds were patched up automatically and a new tooth grew out where the old one was knocked out. "Let's go, ladies," the american enthusiast said, adjusting his grip on the intel.

The group captured the intelligence with almost no effort at all. In the end, the RED team won by two points, with Scout securing it twice. "Good going, string-bean," Engineer congratulated, giving the younger man a high five. "Vunderful job, Scout," Medic praised. "You could've done better," Spy nonchalantly mused, holding a cigar between two fingers. "Well, what have you done the entire round, huh?" the bostonian challenged, eyebrows narrowing with dislike. "I've taken care of the majority of the team, that's why no one was there to stop you while you ran off the bridge when you first got the intelligence." "Well, you weren't there for da second time I got it!"

It was true. Scout had gotten the intelligence and ran up the stairs when suddenly, majority of the BLU team had came into view. Sprinting out as fast as his skinny legs could take him, he took a flying leap to the roof of the bridge, and got held back. The enemy Sniper had fastened his hand around the bostonian's dog tags while he choked loudly. There was a dying scream and the grip had loosened, sending the intel carrier to fall onto the front of the BLU base. As he ran across the bridge while dodging left and right, bullets ping ponged around him, narrowly missing him. The RED team came out and immediately launched in a battle as the runner capped the intel, winning the fight.

"If you must know, I was there. I killed the Sniper holding onto you and I got the Demoman plus the Engineer. I sapped his toys as well," Spy hissed, stormy eyes narrowed in hatred. "Someone else could've done those jobs with less effort," Scout huffed, crossing his arms. "Well, you might've choked to death before someone helped you." A silence again. "You suck." "Of course, a very formidable comeback, a seven year old could have done better." The bostonian pouted, dragging his baseball hat over his eyes, so his face was hidden.


	7. Chapter 7: Übercharged Rewards

**Whoop, whoop! Only one more chapter till the big one! I managed to crank out another chapter during the weekends, so enjoy this one. Anyway, I love getting reviews, even if it's short so feel free to do so! I'm currently working on another gigantic chapter ahead that'll involve some confessions and perhaps a hint of Gray Mann? Watch out for that! It's pretty late at night, so I'magookaybye.**

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 **Chapter 7: Übercharged Rewards**

It was Saturday and it was 2:00 P.M. Scout had forgotten about the period until Spy had reminded him in the rudest method possible. The young male headed to the medical bay and saw the rest of the team (except Heavy) sitting in the apricot colored chairs against the walls. He slipped onto one and waited for a minute before Medic came out of the double doors. "I apologize for zhe vait, I had to take care of some zhings first," he stated, pushing his glasses back so that it didn't fall off his nose. "Anyvay, pleaze take a ticket from zhere. Check your number and vhen zhis sign says your number, come in." "What are we doin', doc?" the bostonian asked, curious for why they were all called here. "Übercharge transplant. Like you saw Heavy doing last week," the german answered. Last week, Heavy had turned a shiny red color and Scout was honestly amazed with it and was excited to be "bullet proof" as well. With a nod, the runner stood up and was the first one to grab a ticket. The rest of the team followed and within thirty seconds, everyone had a tiny piece of paper in their hands. The "Now Serving" sign flipped to "1" and the doctor headed back into his lab.

Scout checked the number in his hands, it was "1." Doing a mix of a stroll and a skip, he pushed the door open and entered. The room was cool and a bit stuffy, but there was no lingering smell of blood like the last time he visited. It just smelled as if someone scrubbed everything with alcohol. "Alright, Scout. Pleaze get onto zhe bed," Medic instructed as he readjusted his glasses and glanced over a packet with the bostonian's face on it. He obediently lifted himself onto a cot that had very small dried blood stains on the sides. Laying back, the doctor pushed a tray holding some various shaped knives, a bonesaw, a scalpel, and an abnormal looking drill.

Nervousness gripped Scout as he eyed the equipment. "You're gonna give me some medicine to make me sleep or somethin' right?" he queried, gripping the sheets as his hands began to sweat. "Oh, no. Zhere is no need for zhat," Medic replied, picking the scalpel up and examining it. When he approached the smaller man, the runner began to twist and fidget away. "Look, Scout; I understand you are nervous, but I promise zhat zhis von't hurt," the older male comforted, attempting to get close. It didn't seem to comfort the speedster's nerves as he kept pushing away. "Schweinhund! If you don't stop, don't blame me if you don't get an Übercharge on zhe battlefield!" This made the other person pause his persistent moving and lay still.

Medic sighed a thanks as he adjusted the placing of a medigun hooked over the wall. Pressing a button on it's side, the machine whirred to life and a steady scarlet beam spread over Scout's chest. The doctor flicked his scalpel expertly over the other man's body. Within a flash, a neatly done slice appeared, so quick that the bostonian thought he was imagining for a second. Scout almost didn't feel pain at all. Instead of a sensation similar to flames, it was just a numb slightly stinging pressure. He watched as the doctor took the bonesaw and then began cutting away at the ribcage busily. Feeling rather bored, the runner began tapping his fingers on the cot and whistling loudly. "Pleaze be quiet, Scout. I am trying to vork," the german requested as he managed to remove the rib cage area that was protecting the heart and lungs.

The whistling and tapping elapsed to silence as the Medic managed to cut off the veins that were supplying the heart. Scout didn't question the impossibleness of this situation. The older man turned his back and there was a sound of a fridge opening. After some rummaging, he turned back around with "Scout's" heart in his hands. It was definitely a heart, but it was three times bigger. "Uh, doc? Is that… my heart?" the speedstar asked, pointing at it. "I modified it a bit, so it can handle zhe Übercharge," came the answer. The german then grabbed some strange half spherical device and inserted it onto the right chamber of the organ. He then held it under the medigun beam and it begun to beat rapidly. Light flooded over it as it convulsed quickly before slowing down. A shiny red hue covered the heart, showing that the operation was a complete success. Neither heard a flap of wings, due to them being distracted by their current situation. Grinning with triumph, the doctor plopped the organ into the runner's chest.

"Hold your ribcage open for a bit," Medic instructed, which Scout did. With a sharp ram, the doctor managed to push the giant heart up to nestle between both lungs. Gritting his teeth, Scout hissed as a slicing wave of pain cut through him. It didn't hurt too much, but it definitely was surprising. "Don't be such a baby," the doctor tutted as he reached for his medigun again. Pressing another button, he pointed it at the bostonian's chest. The beam went more intense and small currents of electricity exited as the sliced flesh and skin redistributed on itself. It closed up before the runner's very eyes and while the slice was healed, so was his shirt. It literally stitched itself back up again and his chest lifted slightly with every beat.

Scout took a lengthy deep breath, sucking as much air as he can into his lungs. It was actually refreshing, but since the german turned off the medigun, agony had came back and enveloped his chest, like a heartburn. "Zhat looks good. Very nice there," Medic observed, checking to make sure the procedure didn't mess up. "Yes!" he exclaimed after he finished checking. He then took a marker with his bloodstained hands and made a checkmark on the packet. "Hey, thanks doc!" the bostonian thanked as he exited and pushed open the double door. There was a loud ding and a flipping noise while he shouted and spread his arms,"Aw, man!" Everyone started and turned to stare at him. "You would not believe how much this hurts," he continued, pressing his hands to the area of pain. There was a sudden bump in his chest and he felt a weight press on his fingers. A muffled cooing followed after the action as his eyes widened in surprise. "Archimedes?" the german asked from within his lab, looking around for his bird.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!" Scout panicked, running around and clutching at his chest in a vain attempt to get the animal out. "Freakin' Archimedes is in my freakin' chest!" Medic came to stand next to the bostonian as he guided the other person back into his lab. "Operation: Save Archimedes is in order here!" he shouted as he turned on the medigun again. Slicing the young adult's torso for the second time, he reached in and started grabbing in a hurried frenzy to hope that his pet was alright. "Ow! Ow! Watch where you're puttin' dat thing!" the runner hissed, words lined with pain. It turned out the dove was stuck between Scout's right lung and heart. Groping around, the german managed to fasten his fingers around the animal's feathery body and then plucked it out quickly. "Archimedes! It's filthy in zhere!" he scolded as he let it flutter out of his hands and onto the lights overhead. He then flipped the switch and the wound and torn fabric closed up almost immediately. "Alright, now you can go," he sighed, relaxing his muscles. "Thanks for gettin' Archie out," the speedstar said with a grateful tone. Before the other male can correct him, he was out the door.

The day passed and it was Sunday. A van pulled up to the front of the RED base and Ms. Pauling stepped out. She headed out into the back and then pulled out four different crates. "Hey, guys. I'm here to deliver the Administrator's rewarded items," she said while readjusting her glasses. "Yo, Ms. Pauling! Uh… ya busy next weekend?" Scout asked, waving to the woman that was heading to the back of the vehicle. "Yes, Scout, I've got…" she trailed off as she took a notebook from her pocket. "I got to run something for the Administrator." "Oh… okay," the bostonian murmured with disappointment. "You'll get 'er someday," Engineer comforted, patting his back. Ms. Pauling grabbed one crate and checked the tag. "This one is for… Soldier," she declared as she handed it to the eager American. "This next one is for Demoman," she continued while passing another one over to the scott. "Medic." The german smiled and brightly thanked," Danke mein friend. "Sniper." "Bloody beautiful…" the aussie mused as he took the crate. "Spy." "Merci, mademoiselle," the frenchman elegantly said while a certain bostonian sulked and pouted on the side . "And, finally… Scout! Congrats on your first set of new weapons!" she congratulated as she passed a crate to the runner.

"Well, that's what happens when you're genius," Scout flexed, hoping that Ms. Pauling would awe at his "well muscled" arm. "Alright guys, I gotta go. See you next Sunday and I hope you enjoy!" she waved as she closed the door to van and took off in a trail of dust. Sighing in a lovesick sort of way, he watched her leave before retreating back into the base. Heading into his room, he managed to get the top off and stare inside eagerly.

Off onto the right corner were seven wrapped pairs of work clothes, but that wasn't the interesting part. Over on the left, there were new weapons. He pulled off a Scattergun looking gun. The only difference with both appearances' was that it was a lighter color and shaped distinctly. "Force-A-Nature" was written on the tag. Pulling out the next weapon, he rubbed his hand over the blade of a cleaver, admiring the sharp side. "Flying Guillotine" was the name of it. There was one last item in the box. Grabbing it and taking it out, his face immediately split into a smile. A worn wooden bat with "The Sandman" engraved on it. A signed baseball was in a baggie next to it. He massaged the grooves on the ball as he allowed his hands to mold around it. He will have to introduce these new weapons to some enemies.


	8. Chapter 8:Hard to Swallow but Fun to Eat

**Whoo! The big chapter is here everyone! This is a longer chapter than the other ones and I just finished with another major chapter in this story! Enjoy the action and drama! Next few chapters will be a bit cooler and softer, but it'll spike up again. Anyway, I'll stop here so you can get reading!**

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 **Chapter 8: Hard to Swallow but Fun to Eat**

"Mission begins in ten seconds." Scout held the "Force-A-Nature" and the "Flying Guillotine" plus the "Sandman" was attached to his belt. When the Announcer counted down, he sprinted out with a brilliant smile. "Time to test you guys out," he murmured as he sped onto the bottom of the bridge. He tightened his grip on the handle, the gun feeling awkward on his fingers. Twisting it in his hands, he pointed it at the approaching enemy Pyro and released. There was a slight knockback, as his grip on it fumbled a bit. The foe was pushed back from the bullet and bowled into their fellow teammate. The cerulean clad adversary mumbled angrily as they ran forward, a blast of flame getting dangerously close. One of the embers caught onto his shirt as he patted down at it. "Fire! Fire!" the runner hissed, he managed to get the blaze off, then got rewarded by an axe splitting his skull.

Landing back in respawn, Scout grit his teeth as he leapt onto the roof of the bridge. At that very moment, the BLU Scout also landed on it. "This bridge ain't big enough for da both of us," the RED mercenary taunted, making a poor attempt to crack his neck. "Clearly isn't, twinkletoes," the enemy hissed, words laced with mocking poison. Before the other had a chance to react, the bostonian dodged to the side and hopped onto the foe's base's ledge while turning around. "Wha- hey! Come back!" the cyan colored male shouted, following him. Scout pressed the trigger as the pushback made him land down and the bullet buried itself in the enemy's chest, causing him to fall to the ground. Grinning with triumph, the vermillion clothed adult raced to the intel room.

Scout encountered a few enemies on the way, but was lucky and managed to kill most of them. Grabbing the intelligence, he hoisted it on his back and sprinted off through the ramp way up. When he was at the top, he froze at the sight of a dark figure at the top. The BLU Demoman reloaded his stickybomb launcher while the bostonian pulled the trigger on his gun. There was a click, but no bullet. He was out of ammo. An expression of horror crossed his features as the enemy's face lit up with triumph. Slowly, the runner reached behind his back and threw his cleaver at the other person. It landed on the older adult's shoulder as blood spurted from the wound. Gasping, he instinctively pressed the button on his stickybomb launcher and the runner was blown to pieces.

Respawning, Scout immediately sped out, mind focused onto getting the intel. When he got back into the BLU base, he picked up his abandoned bloodied "Flying"Guillotine" on the ground. Sticking it back in his belt, he sighed and headed back to the intel room. On the way, the enemy Scout had come back with their briefcase. Grabbing his baseball, he swung his bat and managed to score right between the other's eyes. "Boink!" he called out in triumph as he killed the stunned foe with his Force-A-Nature. "I am the Scout here!" he dominated while standing over the other's carcass. He took his team's and the other team's intel, hoping he can bring them both back.

A few hours later, the day ended with a disappointed stalemate. The RED's win streak had ended and the mercenaries were about to start dinner. This week, Sniper was the cook and Scout was very grateful that he wasn't going to make food from insects. On a plate, two meat pies were placed next to some roasted rabbit and chicken legs (to the bostonian's happiness) followed with a dessert of "Peach Melba" which was peaches and vanilla ice cream ladened with raspberry sauce. Spy was actually pleased by the dessert.

When Scout was about to dig in, he noticed that there was one person missing (besides for Spy who usually ate somewhere else). "Uh… guys? Where's Engie?" he asked. Immediately, the conversation stopped and everyone turned to stare at him. "Engineer usually never misses dinner unless he has something very important or he fell asleep at his vork table…" Medic thoughtfully contemplated out loud. "Yeah, I'll go check on him," the bostonian answered as he stood up. He stopped in the middle of exiting the room. "Uh, where is his room by da way?" "He hardly is in his room. His room is in zhe headquarters and should be easy to find, though he's mainly in his vorkshop. It's next to zhe medical bay." "Alright, thanks doc."

Scout ventured along the hallways, deciding to check the workshop first. He popped open the door without knocking and glanced around the completely barren area. There was nothing living in it, just shelves of robotic parts and piles upon piles of blueprints all stacked up in a box toward the corner. On a long rectangular table held a half finished sentry-looking machine. He went toward it and tapped it with interest. Nothing happened. He sighed, but his exhale was cut short by a loud thumping noise followed by a door opening. The bostonian raised an eyebrow as he surprisingly silently crept to the origin of the noise.

The door leading to the outside of the base was slightly ajar. Scout pushed it open and peered outside to see two men wearing dark suits and masks (not unlike those that Spy wears) loading something into the back of a sterling colored battered van. They talked among each other in murmurs as one of the men limped to the passenger's side followed by the second one going to the driver's seat. When no one was looking, the bostonian slunk to the van and glanced at the latch that held the doors shut. Luckily, it wasn't any serious locks, just a metal rod inserted into a ring. Fumbling with it, he clumsily undid the lock and threw open the doors. Engineer was laying on the floor of the compartment, hands and feet tied with a gag over his mouth. He seemed to be unconscious, but judging from how the men who abducted him look, he put up quite a fight.

There was no way Scout would let these men take Engineer. The van revved up under his feet as he reclosed the door (managing to relock the latch from the inside with a bit difficulty) and crouched by his friend's silent body. The vehicle rumbled forward, rattling along on a road to god knows where. The bostonian hadn't exactly thought things through, so he literally had no backup plan to get back to the base. His hand touched his belt to pick up his cleaver, but his fingers brushed nothing. Oh yeah… he left his weapons in his cubby.

The day stretched on and the sun was setting below the horizon, but Scout wasn't able to see it. His stomach itched, hunger settling in the pit of it. Yet, he miraculously remained quiet the entire time. A few hours passed when finally, the van rolled to a stop. He heard muffled door slamming as footsteps came to the back of the vehicle and horror clenched him. They were going to see him. The two masked men popped open the latch and opened up the door to see their victim, still unconscious on the floor and nothing more. Dragging Engineer's body out, the person that didn't have a limp hauled him over his shoulder and headed toward a door.

Scout breathed a sigh of relief from his hidden spot. He was clutching to the rafter-like attachments on the roof of the van. Lowering himself slowly to the floor, he slipped out and raised an eyebrow in surprise to the night sky. There were barely any glimmers of stars in the dark shadows above. At least that would give some coverage to the runner. Slinking into the shadows, he observed the building. He was in a private parking lot sort of area bordered by a large skyscraper climbing into the clouds. Around the giant property was a large fenced wall to keep out intruders. The mysterious men had opened a door into the building as the bostonian followed by. Getting close to the threshold, he heard one person cursing about dropping his keys. There was a shuffling that faded away. He managed to slip through the door and into an empty room before anyone could see him.

Scout watched one of the men pick up his keys and walk down the hall. Tailing behind them, he coped to dodge into rooms to avoid getting in the view of them. The few rooms that offered coverage to him were empty, luckily. The corridors all looked identical, a sprawling white hallway leading into several more. After about five minutes of just turning corners, they came to a strong iron door. Next to it was a key card slot. The men hoisting Engineer shifted his weight and retrieved a card from his pocket. He slid it in and there was a beep. The door opened up automatically and both of them entered. It closed behind them. Cursing, the bostonian glanced around in hopes for another way to enter. A large air vent was bordering it. With a triumphant smile, he unlatched it and leapt in the darkness of the passageway. Crawling on his hands and knees, Scout maneuvered in the the ducts. Dust collected on his palms and clothes as he shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't the best in closed spaces, but he could manage. Following the sound of voices, he came to an opening where he could see slivers of the room he believed was correct.

Engineer was tied to a chair, his fingers twitching behind his back. He seemed to be waking up. Groggily lifting his head, he perked up immediately after checking his surroundings. "W-Where in Sam Hell am I?" he croaked out, twisting around in his binds. "Dell, it's been a long time," a voice mused, soft as oil cream and dripping with honey. "Eliert?" the texan replied with disbelief. "B-B-But, ya died! The explosion, it had to have killed ya!" The voice's owner was a tall male with brisk well groomed walnut brown hair and a stubble. There was a slash of white in his hair and long scars ran up and down over his face. He had a prosthetic mechanical arm that whirred with every movement and he walked with a slight limp. "Well, it didn't. But, we are not here to talk about how I outwitted death, I'm here to ask you a few questions." "And what are those, I may ask?" the american said, raising an eyebrow. "Just a few simple questions about your work and perhaps the wiring and way you had with your sentry guns, teleporters, and dispensers." "I already supplied ya with the basics back then, was that not enough?" "Clearly, you are missing the point." Eliert paced around the room and stopped, back facing the man stuck in the chair. He then turned around again. "These words aren't requests. The company could not figure out how to duplicate your latest version of your buildings, and we need these for some… oh how should I put this? Projects." There was a silence. "What does that mean when ya say 'projects?'" Engineer queried suspiciously, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Well… you could say that you 'helped' us a bit with this…" there was a short chuckle that sent shivers up Scout's bones. "Also, let me tell you that Builders League United and Red Evacuation Demolition may no longer house the best mercenaries anymore… well, more like be gaining 'upgrades'... mechanical upgrades." "That just ain't right…" the texan murmured beneath his breath, his large brain attempting to calculate what his captor was implying. "It'll be quicker if you answer. It could save me lots of valuable time. You will be killed in the end anyway, so it does not matter." "I worked for Gray Gravel Co. for years and supplied the company with blueprints, and this is what I get back?!" The bostonian hiding the air vents straightened up in surprise. _Hard-hat worked at Gray Mann's company? Da rival to both BLU and RED?_ Unfortunately, due to his disbelief, he perked up and his head hit the ceiling of the duct he was crouching in. Bending over in pain, he gave a hiss of agony.

Eliert immediately stood up and cocked an eyebrow. "Did you hear that? Where was that noise from?" he hissed, talking to a person not in view. "I believe it had come from the vents, sir," a male voice answered. "Well, what are you doing? Go check it out!" the other impatiently ordered. "Yes, sir." Scout's heart constricted in fear. Scrambling up, he scuttled out in hopes that he'll be able to escape. The guard unlatched the vent and peered inside with his flashlight in his hand. He caught a glimpse of a young man's face before the intruder had darted out of view into the maze of corridors. "Sir, there's a man in there," he informed his boss, straightening up and waiting for orders. "Damn it! He could have heard everything! I want you to notify Lucinda immediately," Eilert cursed, tightening his fist. "Make her find out where he is. We have to kill him before he gets outside the building." The guard unholstered a walkie talkie from his belt and pressed a few buttons. "We've got a #932, the vents," he notified to the other person. He grunted with confirmation and nodded to his boss.

Scout heart hammered in his chest, breaths coming out loud and uneven in the confined space he was in. In his adrenaline filled stupor, the cameras he clambered past remained unnoticed by him. _I gotta rescue Engie and get outta here… but, how do we get back to da base?_ He pushed open the air vent's exit into one of the corridors and was met face to face with three guards. The lead one roughly dragged him out and then pointed a pistol straight to his head. The bostonian gulped, every heartbeat in his chest telling him that he was alive for another second. He held up his arms in surrender, cowering low beneath the gun. That was when he paused. He may not have any weapons, but that didn't mean he should be afraid of these people. He was a mercenary, a high skilled killer hired by Reliable Excavation Demolition. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the other's arm and twisted it, hearing an unearthly scream in his ear. The runner twisted around and grabbed the pistol from mid air, pointing it at the fallen's chest and pulling the trigger. A gunshot rattled the air as he went on a handstand and kicked out, hitting the other two guards in the side of their heads. He shot one of them and dodged the other's swings before punching him in the chest. He then kicked forward, the force twisting the sentinel's neck. Three dead bodies lay on the ground behind him as he headed forward. _I'm comin', Engie._

There was no way he was going to remember the way back to the room where Engineer was held captured, so instead, he looked around for someone who did. Scout sprinted down the hallways, surprisingly not encountering anyone on the way. As he turned the corner, a wall of five guards stood in a line, guns pointed at him. He immediately dodged them by going back around the corner again. Sticking his back to the wall, he panted out loud from narrowly escaping being shot. Eyes narrowing in determination, the bostonian used the doorknob of a nearby locked door to shoot up and onto the wall. Pinging left and right by jumping on them, he mowed down two guards with his pistol before dropping it. The weapon was out of ammo. He twisted around and then shot his foot up, kicking one enemy back. He blocked a punch with his arm and then shot forward, beating his head against the others with a sickening crack. He removed a gun from a carcass's pockets and shot at another. He needed one alive. Killing him, he turned to the last one, cowering and holding his gun in a shaking grip. The speedster approached the last sentinel, leaned in and grinned wickedly with a sharp," boo." The man squealed and dropped his gun, but before he could run, Scout grabbed his tie. "You're gonna take me where Engie is and give me da key," he hissed, hands tightening around the cloth. "S-S-Sure, just p-please l-l-let me g-go!" the other stammered, grappling at his neck.

The guard led Scout to the door he had seen when he had came in. Gun still pointed at the cowering man's back, he grabbed the key card from his pocket and immediately killed him after. Sliding it in the slot, he heard a beep of acceptance and the door slid open. Engineer lifted his head up with all the hate his face could muster, which quickly broke when he saw the familiar mercenary in front of him. "Why did ya come, Scout?!" he asked, a look of pure concern plastered over his expression. "Ya welcome, man," the bostonian muttered while working on the texan's binds. Shooting the ropes open with his gun, he pushed the other to his feet and nodded at him. "Let's get outta here." They ran side by side in the hallway, shoes clacking on the pure white floor (Scout managed to find a gun and pass it to Engineer). When they reached the back exit of the building, they both gasped at the sight of people standing in a line over their escape route. "Ya ready, son?" the texan murmured, fist tightening over the handle of his weapon. "Always were, hard-hat."

Rushing into battle, the duo stood back-to-back, protecting each other. Scout struck forward, his fists connecting with a man's chin. He turned around and kicked him in his groin then struck at the neck. "Missed me!" he taunted as he dodged an attack. Elbowing someone, he booted two people at the same time right in the face. Performing an uppercut, he bumped someone back and shot out with his pistol. "Boom! Headshot!" he exclaimed as he planted a bullet straight between a foe's eyes. Everyone looked as if they were moving in slow motion while he fought. He was back in Teufort, brawling back the BLU team with ease. Engineer was doing pretty well. The bostonian watched in surprise at the texan removing his glove and revealing a robotic hand. He grabbed a latch on the side and pulled, a rumble coming from the machine. It begun to spin and he mutilated people's chests into holes with the weapon. "Good job there, Engie!" the speedster praised as he headbutted another foe and then shot some other one. "Ya too, string-bean." The seconds stretched into minutes, when suddenly, the steady rhythm of fighting was shattered by a scream.

It froze Scout's heart, because the scream was very familiar. It wasn't one of the enemies. He gyrated on his heel slowly to see Engineer collapsing from two bullet wounds peppering his chest. "Engie!" he shouted in horror, reaching out. That moment of hesitation was all the other foes needed. A bullet lodged into the bostonian's left shoulder and set him collapsing as well. Grinding his teeth to shut out the agony, he used some of his remaining strength to lethargically strike out and sweep two out of three of the last guards off their feet. Grabbing his discarded weapon, he shot and the fallen two, killing them instantly. The last one was a burly man and he smirked in triumph to see that his enemy was weakened. He pointed his gun and shot, getting the runner in the stomach. Scout groaned, each sound lined with suffering. The taste of iron rose up in his mouth in waves. He spat at the floor, blood staining the clean surface. His vision was blinded and blurred by redness as he curled up in a ball. The sentinel pressed down on the trigger for the killing shot, when he was interrupted by a bullet hole straight through the head.

Spy stood there, his Ambassador pointed in the air. He lowered it steadily, breathes coming out in deep inhales and exhales. He seemed to want to say something important, but he pushed it down and instead said," You are an idiot for not calling the team, Scout." The frenchman tapped at his earpiece and murmured into it," Labourer and Scout are at the back exit. They are greatly injured, so get here quickly." The bostonian longed to say something, but it required immense effort just to breath, so he stayed quiet. About thirty seconds passed, but it seemed to be like thirty days when a familiar battered camper pulled up to the back. The team piled out from the vehicle, racing toward their fallen companions. "Stand back, everyone!" Medic shouted as he pushed his coworkers aside. Medigun in hand, he aimed its healing beams at Engineer first. The flesh redistributed on itself and the bullets popped out from the skin, making it good as new. He then turned to Scout and did the same. "Let's get out quickly before Gray Mann sends more people after us," Spy instructed, lifting the texan back to his feet. "How did ya know where we were?" the runner asked breathlessly, readjusting his baseball hat. "I was heading out of my room and I saw you walking down the hall, so I followed you. When you climbed into that van, I notified the rest of the team and we followed you here," came the answer.

The mercenaries piled into Sniper's van and with a puff, it zoomed onto the road. Though, they weren't safe yet. Cars came behind them and followed the battered vehicle on the highway. Gun shots rattled the small camper as Spy leaned out the door and sent more bullets from his Ambassador before ducking inside. Scout watched this going on from the window of the back. He hated not doing anything. Curling his fists, he turned around. "Did ya bring my gun?" he questioned his coworkers. "Eeersss, weesh mmmph!" Pyro muffled as they pointed to the corner. His Force-A-Nature, Flying Guillotine, and Sandman sat there. Nodding his thanks, the bostonian grabbed his shotgun and cleaver, then pushed open the camper door and landed on the highway. "Laddie!" Demoman called out in surprise as he rushed to the front. "Scout! What are you doing?! We have no respawn!" a french accented shriek called out from the passenger's seat. Scout didn't reply as he rushed forward to meet the cars. He took a hop up and landed on the hood of the first one. He broke the glass with a sharp kick and then killed the driver with his Force-A-Nature. Clambering in, he grabbed the wheel before it could rush out the door. "Scout, you idiot! You can't even drive!" Spy screeched as he took a few more shots. It was true, the bostonian didn't know much about driving, but he'll try anyway. Pressing the pedals experimentally, the vehicle shot forward with a roar. He turned the wheel and rammed the car into a nearby one, sending it skirting against the wall. The side of it broke off as a howl of surprise sounded off from the driver in it. An enemy vehicle smashed into the one behind him and he pitched forward, falling through the window. Landing on the hard road of the highway, he wiped at the blood that burned his cheeks. For some reason, he couldn't feel it as he stood up and took off again. The runner sped up and glanced behind him to see a rocket go crashing into another foe. Sticky bombs blew up to his left while he caught up with the camper. Medic helped him back into the vehicle and cursed at his heroics while giving him a heal with the Medigun. "Thanks, doc," Scout breathed out, staring through the window to see two remaining pursuers. Heavy pushed past everyone with his minigun. It started to whir as bullets flew out of it, ping ponging on the enemies. The windows of the cars shattered and its drivers collapsed, dead. "Woohoo! We got them, we got them!" the bostonian cheered, throwing his fist in the air as they left the wreckage behind, free of any more chasers. Everyone else shared his triumphant hurrah while the van disappeared into the night.

A lone dark figure sat at a desk, monitors in front of him lighting up on a young adult rushing around on a highway and leaping onto the hood of a car. A voice came over the ear piece the person was using. "Sir?" there was a pause, as if the other person was frightened about their next words. "They got away." Gray Mann chuckled lightly, twiddling his thumbs as he watched the RED team power down his guards with graceful attacks. "Lucinda?" he asked over the silent crackle of static. "Yes, sir?" "Organize Mr. Bourbon's machine and send agents to perform part two." "Of course, si-" "Also, the boy interests me, replace him with the second victim." "Alright, sir. Is that all?" "Yes, thank you Lucinda." Gray's silent laughs rang and echoed in the room as he tapped his fingers on his desk. This was going to be fascinating…


	9. Chapter 9:Dime-a-Dozen Backstabbing Scum

**(Alternate title: Scouts cooking show)**

 **Sorry for the two week wait! School's really been giving out homework so it's been a bit difficult to write. I also wanted to take a break because I wrote a really long one too. So, congrats and here's a new chapter! Enjoy!**

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 **Chapter 9: Dime-A-Dozen Backstabbing Scumbag**

Scout stabbed an egg with his fork, the sharp metal cutting into the gooey yolk. "Scout," Sniper began, sipping on his coffee. "Yeah?" he replied as he shoved the piece of food into his mouth. "You're going to 'ave to go to the Teufort market today. It's yer turn to cook next week." The bostonian stopped mid chew with a cock of an eyebrow. "But, doesn't Pyro, Solly, Demo, and Doc still have ta go?" he queried, swallowing the substance in his mouth. "It's in an order. Soldier was the first one to go, so it's yer turn next time, son," Engineer informed while he took a mouthful of beans.

It was Sunday, two days from the narrow escape of Gray Gravel Co. Scout leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the table and taking a big yawn. "How do I get there?" he asked while he scratched at his face. "Feet off the table, boy," Engineer reminded before continuing," We all have our different ways to get to the town of Teufort. It's a ten minute drive, but it's thirty if ya walk. Ya probably don't even want to run either, sun's as hot as a if a jackrabbit ran the heat of hell. I can take ya today, as a sort of payback for yer help." The bostonian nodded and snarfed down a piece of bacon. "So, when are we goin' ta go?" "Get prepared, we're taking Betsy out in an hour." "Betsy?" "My truck."

An hour later, Scout swung his hands around, tapping his foot on the ground nonchalantly. Engineer came to a stagger next to him, digging his gloved hand into his pocket. They were at the entrance to the base where Sniper's van was parked followed with an unfamiliar, expensive, and well cleaned sportscar set off to the far right. Engineer's truck was battered and rusted, but depending on how tidy the inside looked, he really took care of "her." "Buckle up," the texan instructed while he slipped on his own seatbelt and then turned the key. The bostonian remained sitting, not bothering to put on his seatbelt due to his "coolness." "I said, 'buckle up,' son." "Yeah, I know. I don't need a seat belt, though." After a brief argument and a minor tussle, the runner was wearing his strap and they were rattling down the dusty road.

Scout pouted as he watched the notorious and completely fascinating scenery fly by. There was nothing except reddish orange and dead plants that dotted the sparse landscape. A few moments later, he groaned loudly," Are we there, yet?" Engineer's fingers on the wheel tightened with annoyance," It's been thirty seconds. I said we will get there in ten minutes, not one." The bostonian sulked by the window, placing his cheek into his palm. The time snailed by when finally, he grumbled again," Are we there, yet?" The texan sighed, hands pressed into his face, "Yes, we are here."

"Awesome!" Scout exclaimed, unbuckling his seatbelt and kicking open the door. He landed on the caked parched dirt, eyes taking in the large wooden building with a rickety sign over it that read "Teufort Supermarket." People idled in and out, nonchalantly going on with their daily lives while the two mercs headed inside. Engineer removed a shopping cart from a stack of them pushed in a corner. He flicked up his hard hat and turned to his coworker. "So, what do ya want to get?" he queried, glancing around the store. "Um…" The speedster raised his head in thought, before noticing a kid sitting in a cart. "Oh, hell yeah! I want to try that!" Climbing into the cart, he folded his knees into the body and sat there with a wide grin.

Engineer couldn't help but smiling softly at the sight of Scout. It reminded him of his family back in Bee Cave. Sighing, he pushed forward into the various aisles. "Okay, um… if I remember… oh, yeah! Some chicken, buttermilk, flour, butter, potatoes, milk, vegetable oil, salt… and pepper!" Scout listed off from the top of his head. The two carted off to the meat products where they got chicken and beef. Then they took the other ingredients and plopped them into the cart. "Anything else?" the texan asked after they had what they needed. "Hmm… ice cream! Man, I haven't had ice cream in forever!" the bostonian chuckled, pointing his finger toward the ice products aisle. Scout browsed through the rows of flavors before grabbing one with a label that read "Birthday Cake Flavored" on the side.

They checked out the items and loaded in into the truck, placing it under Scout's seat. The runner reached to the control panel of the vehicle and begun changing the radio stations. His lip stretched into a disappointed frown when he found that there were no channels talking about baseball. Instead, he settled on some music that included drums, flute, trumpets, and trombones. "Ya listen to instrumental music, string-bean?" Engineer questioned with disbelief, his eyebrow raised. "No! It's just dat this is all dat's good- I mean… uh… I don't listen to dat old sh*t!" the bostonian hotly defended, his words laced with a blubber at the end. "Listening to instrumental music ain't old, son. Plenty of people younger than ya like it. I happen to listen to jazz and blues a lot on ceasefire days," the other adult pointed out with his elbow comfortably resting on the window ledge of the car. "Really…? My brothers used ta say it was old and girly all da time…" "Nah. Yer brothers are as wrong as a freezing hell." There was silence for a bit with the runner staring outside the window, lost in thought. "Engie?" "Yes?" "Thanks." "No problem."

It was a day later and after work. Scout was standing in the kitchen, his hands on his hips while he stared at a cutting board. He cooked plenty of times when his Ma was too tired to do anything, and he remembered some of the things to do. He hadn't cooked for the team this morning, because he woke up late, but his co workers didn't seem that angry. A fat defrosted chicken sat there in front of him, as if waiting to be cooked. Grabbing a knife from the cupboard, he began to slice up the meat into pieces, severing the parts such as the wings and legs neatly. Shoveling some flour into a bag, he poured out the buttermilk into a large bowl. He then dipped the pieces of chicken into the liquid and then plopped them into the flour. Shaking the sealed bag, the bostonian watched as the meat became well coated. He dug them out and waited for a while, letting the flour get a paste-like appearance. As it was doing that, he took a skillet and covered the bottom with vegetable oil, allowing the heat to go up. Slipping the coated chicken into the pan, he fried them with a faint air of experience. The smell of smoke entered his nose while he flipped the food over, peppering it with spices; then finished up with it. Placing them into a large plate, he went on to making the mashed potatoes.

An hour had passed when the mercs filled into the dining room, sniffing experimentally at the air. "Didn't expect ye knew how to cook," Demoman said as he sat at his place at the table. Everyone had empty plates and in the middle were two big bowls with fried chicken plus mash potatoes topped with gravy. "Yeah, I can! Just 'cause I'm younger than ya doesn't mean I can't cook," Scout informed heatedly as he retied his bandages around his hand (which he took off when cooking). "Your food is, at least, significantly better zhan zhe cyclops," Medic praised, his fork stabbing into some chicken. Surprisingly, Spy was there, twitching at the sight of the food. "Too greasy for my tastes," he muttered under his breath as he took a spoonful of mash potatoes. The dinner passed and everyone had cleaned their plates (including Spy) with a few compliments to the chef. It wasn't very delicious, but it was alright. For dessert, they had scoops of ice cream and the bostonian had reluctantly washed the dishes.

Scout was kicked back in the lounge, sketching in his drawing pad which he managed to find in his closet. He was unsure how he lost it at first, but he pushed the feeling away and went for the relaxing sound of a pencil scratching on paper. He had attempted to go for realism, but it didn't look too good. It was alright, but it didn't seem as if it would pop out of the page and attack you. Rustling the pages, the runner scratched at the nape of his neck. "Herr Scout?" a voice said from the doorway. The younger male turned his head to see Medic there, holding a clipboard in his hand. "Yeah, doc?" the bostonian replied, attention turning back to his paper. "Can you get Spy to come to zhe medical bay? I don't have zhe chance to go get him myself because I usually can't find him and I'm busy today." The smaller adult grumbled, closing his sketchbook and standing up. He didn't want to look for the dime-a-dozen backstabbing scumbag, but if it meant that Spy had the chance to get a needle plunged into him, than he was onboard with it. "Alright, fine." "Danke."

Scout headed to the sleeping headquarters and managed to locate Spy's room. He knocked at the door, foot tapping on the ground. He swore he heard shifting in the room, but nobody opened the door. Tapping on it again, he received the same answer as before. He tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Pushing it open, he entered into a spacious room. This was completely unlike his own room. It had a fine velvet carpet stretching over a wooden floor. To the right there was a fireplace with a picture framed over it and bookshelves lined the walls. A globe stood in the corner followed with a large plush chair and nightstand. There were multiple other furniture, such as a coat rack, lamps, a table, a couch, and a bar-looking thing with a panel of buttons. There seemed to be no one inside.

Scratching his head, Scout looked around. It seemed as if Spy had went all lengths to make his room very fine. It was as if this one place was in an entirely different building. He approached the nightstand next to the couch. On it was a framed picture. A very familiar framed picture. It depicted Scout's mom smiling widely next to her eight children. It was the very same picture that the bostonian had lost a few weeks ago. There was a decloaking noise behind him and a smell of smoke permeated the room. "Why… do ya have this?" he asked quietly, holding onto the edges item with an iron grip. He didn't turn around. There came no reply. "Why do ya have this!?" he said again, except louder and more forcibly. Silence.

Scout finally turned around a jabbed a finger into Spy's chest. "Why do ya have this!?" he demanded, emphasizing each word as loud as he could. There seemed to be a glint of something strange and unknown in the frenchman's eyes, fear, but it disappeared so quickly that he was sure that he just imagined it. Instead, the other man smiled like a cat would to a mouse. "It's because I like to see you suffer," he relished in amusement, that snarky grin on his face. "You like ta see me suffer?! I'll give ya somethin' to suffer 'bout!" the bostonian hissed as he launched forward. His fingers locked around the other's throat, but he was thrown off quickly. "Je suis désolé," the frenchie muttered while he blocked a punch. He kicked forward, the heel of his shoe catching the younger male's chin before the runner kneeled onto the ground in pain. He took this opportunity to send a sharp punch right to the cheek. Scout recovered and rose up again, placing a well aimed blow straight to the stomach and then to the face. The cigarette that Spy was smoking was knocked out from his mouth and then fell to the ground where the runner had managed to step on it. The older man's stormy eyes narrowed and then he struck forward, sending the runner plummeting backwards. Lithe as a cat, he jabbed his hands with sharp experienced hits, right in the chest. The bostonian managed to get a few more hits in, but was immediately overpowered by a rather hard punch right to the face. He fell to the ground, sporting a black eye. Clutching at it, he gritted his teeth and rose up. His face and body was peppered with bruises that were varying shades of red, black, and purple, with a bleeding lip. He snatched his picture of his family and stormed off, out of the frenchman's room. "Medic wants you in the medical bay," were the last words that were spoken by Scout to Spy for a long while.

When Scout was out of the hallway, Spy shut the door of his room with a sigh. Collapsing onto his vermillion colored chair, he took a deep breath, the inhale coming out as a stutter. "Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait?" the frenchman murmured, gloved hands covering his face.


	10. Chapter 10: Lawn Mower Hare

**I AM SO SORRY GUYS FOR THIS UPDATE. This darn update took so diddly darn long, jeezus I swear. I'm really sorry guys. I kinda just stopped working on the story cause I lost my sense of inspiration and just was like, "eh." But I finally finished the new chapter! I just finished Machines Don't Bleed by ChaosandMayhem and it gave me more inspiration for this story. Ya really ought to check it out, it's really good! I promise you guys that I will finish this! I literally need to. I can't promise it'll be daily and quick, but I promise that I will finish it no matter what! Alright, enjoy this chapter!**

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 **Chapter 10: Lawn Mower Hare**

It was Wednesday and after work. Dinner had been finished and Scout had ran out of ingredients for food, so it was another visit to the supermarket. Engineer needed to fix something with his truck, so he couldn't give his co worker a life. Now, the bostonian was at the back, conversing with Sniper. "So… uh… would ya mind if ya take me ta da market ta grab some stuff?" he asked, his thumbs twiddling in a sharp manner. The pair had both considerably grown closer over time, so now the aussie was more of a friend to the younger man. "Hmm… sure, mate, but I'm not buyin' anything," the lanky male chuckled before climbing into the vehicle. The camper started up and calmly rumbled down the dusty road. The sun shone harder, no clouds streaking across the endless sea of cerulean.

Sniper changed the radio station, humming as he listened to the channel. A steady guitar started up, drumming sweetly. _Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly._ Scout couldn't help but start to nod along to the song. _All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise._ "This is The Beatles," the australian informed while he took a left turn along the road, right hand doing a sort of conducting motion. _Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free._ The bostonian's mind drifted off to his family back in Massachusetts. He thought back to the humble pale yellow house with a red slated roof, a garden of flowers in the front. Ma always liked flowers. _Blackbird, fly, blackbird fly. Into the light of the dark black night._ His brothers were not really ones he would love to have around. They were using the bathroom when he had to go, they always took most of the food before he got there, and always got into fights first so when he reached there, he could only throw a few weak swings. That was until he started to learn how to run. Yet, his siblings was always there to help him when he was injured or in trouble. _Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly._ The runner bit his lip, remembering the time he had asked Ma about his dad. She had smiled sadly and patted his head before walking out of the room. Topics like that was always unanswered. _All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…_

The van rattled into the supermarket's parking lot with a puff of exhaust. Sniper threw open the door while Scout clambered out. The runner stretched, his back popping as he relaxed his shoulders. About thirty minutes passed when the pair came out again lugging plastic bags full of groceries. They threw it in the back of the camper and hopped back in. The vehicle revved up again and it went down the dusty road, heading back to the base.

Scout had his feet up on the dashboard and was leaning back in his seat. Sniper was just calmly driving and smiling to himself, as if he was fondly remembering something long ago. The peaceful rare silence was suddenly interrupted by a deafening thud and a jolt from the van. "I think I hit something!" the aussie observed as his grip on the steering wheel faltered, causing a sharp twist to the side. "Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock!" the younger adult hissed back as he struggled to hold onto his seat (he refused to put on his lame seat belt again). The van skidded to a stop on the side of the road. Both men slid out of the vehicle and walked over to the thing they hit. A small furry chestnut colored animal laid writhing on the floor, it seemed to have been hit by the tip of the car while it was passing over the road. The animal, a hare panicked at the sight of the humans and desperately attempted to get up, though it was too weak to. "Oui, we're going to have hare tonight," the australian remarked brightly, bending down to kill it. "What are ya doin'?! We're not gonna eat it!" the bostonian objected.

"Wot?" Sniper responded, surprised at this notion. "Why not? You are fine with eating chicken." "I had a rabbit when I was little named Frisko and it looks like him!" Scout answered in disbelief, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Frisko? Wot kinda name is that?" the other person chuckled loudly. "Hey, it's a better name than whatever ya can come up with! I betcha had some stupid australian crocodile which ya named freakin' Snaggletooth or some sh*t like dat," the bostonian comebacked. "Ye-" the aussie paused," No." When the younger man seemed distracted, he mumbled under his breath," How did he know?"

"Let's get it back to da doc," Scout demanded as he gingerly picked it up and brought it toward the camper. "No way is the Administrator goin' to let us bring a live animal and keep it as a pet. Neither am I goin' to let ya bring it in me van!" Sniper objected, waving his hands in a final motion. "Come on, Snipes! It's not permanent or anything!" the runner pouted and whined," Please, just let the doc heal it and I'll let it go!" "No." "For me, Snipes?" the younger adult had such a desperate and pleading look, it was as if that animal was his closest friend or something. "Fine, but ya are the one to take care of it and hold it. If it pees on ya or gives ya rabies, it's not me fault." "Thanks, man!" the bostonian graciously cheered, punching his shoulder playfully before scooping up the hare and entering the vehicle. Once he had shut the door fully, the aussie rubbed his forehead and grumbled," I'm goin' to regret this so much."

"Yo, doc. Ya got a second?" Scout questioned, barging into the medical bay. Medic was furrowing his brow and biting the tip of his pencil, deeply concentrated on some problem or equation. Even if he did hear the other's sentences, he didn't act like he did. "Doc!" The german started, jerking up and his glasses falling off his face. It clattered on the tabletop and he had to play a game of "find something when you're as blind as Demoman after he had twenty bottles of scrumpy within half an hour." Finally retrieving it, he placed it back on his face and cursed at his patient," Schweinhund!" He paused when he saw the animal in the younger male's hands. "What… is… zhat?" the doctor slowly stated, drawing out each word so it was much longer than it needed to be. "A rabbit!" the runner brightly replied, clutching it to his chest ("A 'are," Sniper groaned behind him)," I called 'em Frisko Jr.!" ("It's a she!" the aussie corrected again)

"So… uh, ya think ya can heal Frisko Jr. up?" Scout questioned as he shifted his weight from the left ball of his foot. "You zhink I vould seriously spend my precious healing charge from my medigun for zhat zhing?!" Medic spat in the younger male's face. "Zhis technology is vorth millions of dollars and I'll just spend it for one bunny?! Is zhat vhat you zhink?!" The bostonian seemed to have run out of things to say for once in his life. He just had his finger up and blubbered incoherently. Sniper smirked behind him, proud that the german has taken his side. "Vell zhen, you are very much correct!" the doctor continued, giving the shorter adult a wide grin of his own. Focusing the medigun's healing ray on the animal, it's wounds closed up neatly in a matter of seconds. Now it was the australian's turn to stammer in surprise.

"Awesome, thanks, doc! Now, let's go have some fun Frisko Jr.!" Scout graciously blessed, letting the hare hop on the floor and start to explore around curiously. "Scout!" Sniper shouted while grabbing the other's shoulder in a firm grip. "What?" the bostonian asked, words laced in annoyance as he looked back. "The 'are can't stay 'ere! Its proper place is in the desert, it won't be able to survive 'ere!" He paused, contemplating this thought. After a while, the speedster lowered his head in hesitant acceptance and murmured," Fine, we'll let him go."

About five minutes later, Sniper and Scout had driven back out of the base to where they had picked up the animal. "Take care, Frisko Jr.," Scout softly farewelled as he stroked the hare's head. Sniper's mouth gaped wide, eyebrow perked up. It was clear that the aussie had no idea that his comrade could be so loving. "What?!" the bostonian hissed, suddenly noticing his friend's disbelief. He turned back to his ex-pet and then laid it on the ground. The animal blinked its eyes in thanks and went the closest a hare could do to a smile. With that, it hopped away into the endless desert.

The farther Frisko Jr. got, the more the slight smile on Scout's face grew. "Ya know, I actually feel more happy than keepin' 'em at da bas-," Scout began before cutting himself off with a brief shriek. A coyote had just emerged from what seemed to look like thin air. It had swiftly killed the hare in a short pounce and a sharp bite to the neck. The predator that trotted away merrily, the piece of prey slung around its jaws. The bostonian just gaped loudly, gulping like a fish out of water. He turned around and gave Sniper a look that was a mix between annoyance, anger, sorrow, and a tiny hint of amusement. "Ya suck, ya know."


	11. Chapter 11: Pyrotouille

**This is one of the shortest chapters in the book. The reason for that is that I may have ran out of ideas for this? It is only 747 words, but don't worry! I'll be uploading the next one very soon. And when I say very soon, I mean very soon. I promise the next chapter will be longer, so enjoy this one!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Pyrotouille**

A small adult man stood, seemingly alone in a set of sewer systems. It was Scout and he wasn't alone at all. Taking a deep yawn, he watched as his gas masked friend emerged from the shadows, almost ominously. "Hey, I know ya do dat, but can ya not act so creepy?" the speedster sighed while he scratched at his bandages subconsciously. "Ouhkymmh!" Pyro mumbled brightly, clapping their hands together as if they were about to get to work.

It was Friday and his fellow co worker was taking him to the supermarket today. The mute thing didn't even have a vehicle or anything, but Engineer had assured him that they had a means of transportation. "So, what are we goin' ta do?" Scout asked nonchalantly, leaning up against the walls. "Mmmrph ghing shrumh!" Pyro replied back as they pulled out the lid of a metal trash can from behind their back. "Uh… yeah, I don't get it." The muted monster walked to the left wall of the sewer and placed their gloved hand on it. Knocking it experimentally, the sound of it echoed around the small space. They moved a bit and tapped again, another ring but except a bit more hollow. With a yip of excitement, they shifted their weight and pushed. The wall swung open to reveal another series of tunnels.

"What da crap…" Scout gaped with a slight drawl watching as a secret sewer system was unfolded beneath his eyes. Pyro walked past him like it was nothing and then placed the trash bin lid on the floor. They stepped on it and then reached into their holster around their waist. Pulling out their detonator, the pyromaniac pointed it straight at the bostonian. "Woah, Pyro," he began, backing away and reaching behind his back for his Flying Guillotine. He grasped nothing. He left it back at the base. "Mmmphh rmph," they murmured under their breath. "Put da gun down, man," the speedster cautiously squeaked. His stomach churned as he took a few more steps back. He was going to die here and no one would know. The muted monster pulled the trigger, but right before he did so, he aimed the gun slightly behind him and at the wall.

The detonator's blast made them fly forward, skirting on the trash can lid and ram right into Scout. Scout screamed like a little girl as they both went "surfing" along the sewers. Clutching to Pyro's asbestos suit, they zoomed through the tunnels at the speed of a car. When they started to slow down, the pyromaniac will turn around and shoot off again. After a few minutes of this charade, the bostonian ceased his screaming and came to enjoy it. Every so often, he will kick off at a higher place in the wall to give an extra push. Even though he was contributing to the speed, his fellow co worker actually knew where to go, so he allowed them to take the reins of the trash can surfboard.

Ten minutes later, the pair came to a stop. They were at a dead end and a ladder clung to the wall, leading upward to a grate. "Frphmwer mesh!" Pyro mumbled with a gesture of their gloved hand. They climbed up and slid the grate to the side, heading out to the world above. A small hole of light emitted from the ceiling and Scout followed after them. The group emerged into a small side alley near the supermarket.

After about an hour, the group emerged from the building carrying bags of groceries. Moving the grate over again, they climbed down into the sewer systems and closed it up. Surfing around the tunnels, Scout whooped loudly while he raced forward. He had to do this more often, it was so interesting. Speeding around he watched with relish as he skirted around corners without one awkward movement. Ten minutes later, the trash can lid surfboard came to a stop.

Pyro and Scout dragged the groceries into kitchen with Scout talking more quickly than usual about their amazing adventure of sewer surfing. Words came out of his mouth like bullets and it rained upon everyone's ears. "Glad ya'll liked the trip," Engineer smiled, taking a sip from a can of cactus juice gotten from god knows where. The pyromaniac thrusted their fist up in the air and chanted happy murmurs. The bostonian next to them grinned brightly and followed after with loud roaring whoops.


	12. Chapter 12: It's Quiet in Teufort

**DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE? IT'S ANOTHER QUICK UPDATE! (And an interesting one at that ;))) ) Darn, it might leave on a cliffhanger; wink wonk. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: It's Quiet in Teufort**

It was Sunday breakfast time and the Reliable Excavation Demolition crew were crowded into the dining room. Scout kept consistently babbling that he was so relieved that he no longer had to cook for their ungrateful asses (even though he actually did care about them, but was too cool to admit it). Unluckily, he misjudged the amount of ingredients he required and he had to go back to the supermarket for the final time. Chewing at his slightly runny egg, he swallowed and stared down at his plate of waffles. He had gotten a bit lazy with his cooking and just went for microwavable items now (well, except for the egg).

"So… who's gonna take me to da market?" Scout asked to his comrades. Sniper had came in and grabbed his plate before preparing to leave the room. "Arh, sorry, mate. I can't take ya. Remember that 'are we ran into?" the marksman began with a wave of his hand. "Yeah," the younger mercenary replied while nodding his head. "Well, when I swerved the van, bunch of me jarate in the back tumbled onto the floor and cracked. Now, the entire thing is covered in piss and I gotta clean it up! I managed to get the carpet and floor, but it still smells like you plunged yer head in an used toilet bowl. Though, if ya want to still ride in it, that's fine." "Er… yeah, no," the speedster responded with a grossed out expression.

Scout glanced up with a hopeful expression to his teammates," Engie? Pyro?" Pyro shook their head and mumbled loudly,"Ir hovsh ash commphesyon Ir hovsh tsh gosh." The other person cocked an eyebrow and responded," I honestly don't have any idea what yer sayin'." Engineer placed his gloved hand on the pyromaniac's shoulder. "Pyro says that they have a convention to go to because they're part of some group at Teufort today. Unless you want to get lost in the sewers or want to wait three hours for them, they can't really take ya," Engineer informed with a gesture of the hand. "And I can't either because I gotta fix up Betsy. Can't really start her up, the old gal needs some fixing and maybe a new coat of paint." The bostonian across the table bit his lip and tapped his fingers on the table," So, no one else has a car or somethin'?" "Can't stickybomb jump there either, laddie. The citizens there will call the police," Demoman said as he took a big gulp of his scrumpy. "Maybe we can-" the speedster began. "Rocket jumping will be the same, too. Right, Solly?" the scott asked, looking through his one eye at his friend. "What? Oh, yes. Affirmative," Soldier babbled, hopping up from his glazed stupor. Engineer rubbed his stubble in thought before sighing,"I don't think anyone can take ya, Scout. No one really has any means of transpor-" He paused. "Spah…"

Spy glanced up from his place at the table. He looked up at Engineer before looking back at his plate, the pieces of the puzzle falling together. "Merde." "Ya have that sports car right? Yer fancy one? Ya can take Scout!" Engineer brainstormed, smiling up at his fellow mercenary. "That is out of the question. One, Scout is an immature five year old who would immediately soil the seats, and two, my car is out of gas," the frenchman notified as he pointed his fork at the other man. "Hah, yer lying, Spook! I was out yesterday and you were at the gas station. Turns out, I was spyin' on ya instead!" Sniper excitedly smirked. Whenever going on about Spy's faults, the australian always seemed to jump upon the topic with the enthusiasm of a child on Smissmas morning. The sneaky masked man angrily mumbled something incoherent under his breath. Scout cut in, raising up his bandaged hands and managing to settle them down. "Okay, I rather walk then being in a car with a smelly know-it-all, so there is no way yer gonna get me ta go with 'em-" the bostonian began before being yanked at the ear by Engineer.

"Nope, no way to get out of this, boys! We're goin' to have some bonding time for the two of ya'll!" Engineer shouted as he dragged the two along with an iron grip on their ears. "Ow, ow! Stop, Engie! Damn it!" Scout cursed while he stumbled along. Spy seemed oddly relaxed, like he had experienced this millions of times. "Please let me go, Labourer. You don't have to let the lapin imbécile go, but I won't be able to spy well if I can not hear," he calmly informed as he took another puff of his cigarette. Eventually, the texan did let them go, but it was outside of the base, near the parking lot. "You two better get crackin', now!" Engineer waved, slamming the door back inside and locking it.

"Great! Just great! I have to be stuck with you!" Scout hissed, jabbing his finger into the other's chest. Spy sighed as he rubbed at his temple. "Let's just go get what you need and go. The faster we finish this, the faster I can get away from you," Spy said with a sharp twinge of annoyance in his tone. They both climbed into the car and the frenchman started it up. "Put on your seatbelt," he commanded, staring at the other's seatbelt less form. "No, who are ya? My dad?" Scout challenged, raising his fist up. "Fine, but it's not my fault if you die," Spy grumbled, going back to his driving. Sidling along the road at a comfortable speed, the bostonian attempted to block out the music Spy was playing. It was this obnoxious opera stuff and he absolutely hated it. He reached over to change the channel when he was blocked by a gloved hand. "You don't mess with a man's car," the sneaky male hissed as he flung the younger man's hand back down. "Oh yeah, whatcha goin' ta do if I did?" Scout challenged, ready to wring his hands around the other's neck. "I would kill you, but I can go to jail for that. Eh, better yet just leave you in the middle of the desert to die," the frenchman yawned loudly.

The brief car ride was filled with tension and arguments (all which Spy had won). Finally, they pulled into the supermarket parking lot. Scout dragged a shopping cart from the bunch in the corner and casually browsed through the frozen food aisles. He was planning just to make hot dogs and ravioli, all which can be found in this one part of the building. He pulled open the door and reached for some frozen ravioli before he was pulled off it and swung into the cart. "What are ya doin'?" the bostonian demanded as he glared up into the face of Spy. "I should have known you were just using microwavable food! No wonder why I gagged immediately after a forkful! Disgusting. There is no way I would make your last cooked meals be from this aisle! The rest of the team doesn't care, but I do!" the frenchman spat, causing a bit of a scene in the store.

"Nah, man. It's too pricey!" Scout retorted, throwing the older man off him and stomping forward. "What do you mean 'too pricey?' You get the paycheck of a doctor!" Spy argued back as he made giant gestures. "I send my money to help my Ma, okay!" the bostonian replied, turning around and flipping him off. For the first time, the angered look on the frenchman's face softened and his expression smoothed down to be a ghost of a proud and sweet smile. Though, it disappeared so quickly that Scout was sure he had imagined it. Instead, it was replaced by a dark frown. "Okay, boy. We are getting real food," the sneaky man finalized, grabbing the younger male's collar and hauling him to the meat department. There were no arguments to be made as Spy picked out the best kinds of meat, dairy, sweets, fruits, and vegetables which were adequate to his tastes. They paid at the checkout counter and headed back to the vehicle.

The beginning part of the trip back to the base was rather uneventful. Turn left, turn right, keep going, the same monotonous route. The sports car paused at an intersection, waiting impatiently for the light to turn green. Spy tapped his fingers on the wheel nonchalantly as he glanced left and right. Vermillion shifted to viridescent in front of him and he leaned lightly on the pedal. The vehicle rumbled forward and for a few seconds, everything slowed to a stop. A sleek shining ebony colored car sped in the intersection, not bothering to heed the red light. It kept moving forward, seemingly out of control and slammed right into the fancy sports car. Spy barely had time to react when everything shattered.

The sports car spun out of control and rolled over, skidding along the road as shouts of panic and fear arose. Scout gritted his teeth as he dug his now white knuckles into his seat. Yet, it wasn't enough to stop the final impact. It flipped over and swerved near a building. His window shattered and bits of glass buried deeply within his skin. The force of the crash threw the bostonian out of the vehicle and onto the street. He tumbled quickly along the rocky surface like a ragdoll, the speed burning away the skin on his left side. A long road rash covered his body as gashes ran up and down his face. His breathing was ragged and he could barely see anything through his blurry blood filled eyes. There was nothing except pain and hotness. Screams shattered around him, but he wasn't able to hear it. It was all agony and blood. Then everything went black.

Spy pricked open one eye. His bones moaned and ached, but he seemed to be fine besides from a few bruises and cuts on his face. Brushing dust and debris off his suit, he reared up in his glazed stupor. After some difficulty with the crushed driver's door, he finally managed to kick it open. He caught a sight of someone laying on the ground thirty feet away from the crash. He felt as if he was floating in space, gone from the disaster below. _Scout… where is he?_ The frenchman realized this, suddenly stopping in panic. That body far away… Alarm gripped him as his heart jumped into his mouth. Sprinting forward, he pushed people away in desperation. "Scout!" he bellowed, shoving someone's hands out of his way. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to reach Scout. Shouting the bostonian's name again, he reached the prone figure lying helplessly. Crouching low to the ground, he examined in horror at the long lacerations along the adult's frame. Scratches and blood pricked out from everywhere he looked. The other's shirt was torn and long gashes ran up his torso. Vermillion swathes of liquid fell upon Spy's trembling hands. Was he? No, he can't be… There was no way that energetic boy could be… dead… "Scout?" he managed to choke out, a sob rearing in his throat. He reached up to grasp the runner's numb cold hand. It seemed lifeless and empty. The masked man bent his head down as cries shook his body. That was when he felt something… a pulse.

Spy jolted up and immediately looped his arms around Scout's limp form. "Sir? Sir! Please wait till the hospital arrives," a policeman began, stepping in front of the pair and putting his hand up. "Move, now," the frenchman grated through clenched teeth, his patience and so was the life he held between his hands were running short. "Sir, please step to the side-" "Move!" Spy demanded harshly. He kicked the officer in the shin and ran off, back to the sports car. He yanked the door open and placed Scout down in the seat. Wiping at the stray glass that lay around, he started the car up. By some miracle, it worked and the vehicle tore down in the road in a frenzy.

Spy threw open the glove compartment and withdrew loads upon loads of handkerchiefs. Pressing the cloth up to Scout's wounds, it allowed some coverage as he attempted to stop as much of the bleeding as he could. Yet, that didn't do enough. The wounds continued to release rivers of crimson freely. "Damn it, Scout! I will kill you if you die on me!" he roared, giving more pressure to the pedal. The car sprang forward and puffs of exhaust rapidly released into the air. The bostonian's pulse seemed to slow with every breath he took. The frenchman would die before he would allow the runner to. "Wake up! Wake up!" Spy hissed, grabbing the younger male's chin and forcing it up and down in hopes that it'll rouse him.

Fortunately, it managed to do so. Scout's eyes fluttered open, just tiny pinpricks of cyan blue hidden behind a stench of arriving death. "Spy?" he whispered, voice as soft as a butterfly's wings. "Yes?" Spy earnestly replied as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"Why does everything hurt?"

"Don't think about that! Just concentrate on staying awake for me!"

Spy swerved the sports car around a corner, just three minutes away from the base… "I feel so tired for some reason," Scout yawned from his spot on the seat. He didn't seem to notice his injuries or the determined look his fellow mercenary had plastered on his face. The frenchman felt for the younger male's pulse again. It was much slower than before. There was a possibility that the bostonian would fall before they reached Medic. Just one more minute till they get there…

"Scout, can I tell you something?" Spy said in his senseless desperation. "Sure, sure, sure. Just make it quick, I want ta sleep," Scout responded drowsily, flicking his hand is sluggish movements. "When…" the frenchman paused as he took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. "When I was at RED for the past few years, I've been writing letters. Writing letters for a person very close to me… and also to you… It was your Ma, in fact…"

"Mmhmm…" Scout mumbled, not grasping the full importance of the situation.

"And, I was her lover. That was, until I joined RED. I had to leave her… I thought she would be fine, until… well, you came along and joined… I'm sorry, Scout. I've… I've been a horrible father."

Scout yawned again, a lot louder this time. The car pulled up in front of the base and Spy dragged Scout out to the door. He banged on it, curses spilling out of his mouth each time. Engineer opened it to see both of them bloodied and injured. The bostonian's vision began to fizzle again as he flittered through unconsciousness and consciousness. The last thing he heard was a throaty call for Medic before his entire world went black once more.


	13. Chapter 13: Family Long Lost

**Yes. I haven't posted a chapter in a million years. And yup, these are old chapters I haven't uploaded. And yes, I 100% definitely certainly waited this long to post anything as a better cliffhanger. So far, I'm still working on chapter 15. Recently, I lost interest in continuing this story and when I revisited I- uh- well, I sorta gagged. But I do want to see this through, even if I have to shorten my plot.**

 **I feel a bit bad, I didn't write any plot notes down, so that means I gotta wrack my brains to try to remember what I meant to do. I remember this epic baseball thingy scene B) so that's p cool**

 **Alright, on to the story!**

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 **Chapter 13: Family Long Lost**

Voices… blurry voices. A tiny shaft of light in the ceiling shone brightly and completely flooded his vision. Soreness rubbed every part of his body and it was so difficult just to completely open his eyes. The voices quieted down, as if sensing something was amiss. Tiny modicums of darkness danced over his sight. Scout's eyes managed to adjust to the brightness and he glanced to the side. On a tray, shards of broken bloodied glass were thrown in randomly. It's sharp edges told stories about injuries and wounds. The pain was gone, but the weariness remained. Engineer, Medic, and Sniper huddled over him with relieved stares. The bostonian returned the stare and pondered why he was in the medical bay. That was when everything came flooding back.

 _The car crash… Spy…_ Scout gandered around the room and saw Spy standing in the corner. The frenchman was trembling and it seemed that his gloved hands shook in both panic and exhaustion. His back was facing toward the man in the bed. The noises around came back to him and he heard Engineer say,"Are ya okay, Scout?" He rubbed his eyes and the room swung into focus. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine," the speedster stuttered, subconsciously scratching at his once there injury. More details came back to his mind when suddenly he remembered what Spy had said before he blacked out.

"Ya sonuvab*tch!" Scout hissed as he suddenly leapt up to his feet. Before anyone can stop him, he pounced on top of his "father." Waves of nausea threatened to make him fall, but he managed to push it away as he kept attacking. "I'm not sure if ya were lying, but I'll beat your ass in, even if ya were!" The bostonian kicked the older man in the stomach, not bothering to pay attention to the fact Spy wasn't trying to defend himself or attacking back. "Ya left Ma and ya don't know how much she had ta work! She worked day and night ta help us and here ya are, having a fine time at RED! I don't care if ya didn't read da fine print! Sometimes I hear her cry at night and when I go over and ask her, she never…" Scout's voice cracked and he knelt to the ground, hiding his face behind his bandaged hands. Sobs and crying echoed from his trembling body. "She wouldn't evah tell me…" When he withdrew his face from his hands, his eyes were like chips of ice. They were cold and had the ability to kill you if you stayed too close.

Spy stared up from his spot on the ground, expression glazed. His lip was bleeding and his suit was torn slightly, black and purple bruises peppered his face. For the first time in a long time, there seemed to be a hint of fear in those stormy gray pools hidden behind his eyes. Scout yelled himself hoarse and spit flew in every direction. Throughout that entire time, he was powerless to prevent the tears that leaked out of his eyes. When the bostonian seemed to have finally stopped his relentless cursing and bellowing, Spy finally allowed himself to speak," I'm so sorry… I never thought I had hurt her like that-" "I don't care!" the runner interrupted, attempting to wipe his face from the tears. "She had six jobs, and ya did nothing! Michael had ta drop out of high school, even though he had a chance ta go ta da Massachusetts Institute of Technology! He didn't take da scholarship because of Ma! If ya were there for us, we wouldn't had been livin' in a crappy house anymore!" He paused for a few seconds to take a breather and wipe his face from the water. "I was able ta help Ma by takin' this job! She works less and she's able ta finally take weekends off. I took da same job dat ya did, but I was able ta help her ten times more than ya!" He was about to go for a strangle or something that made the frenchman feel the same pain his family had, before he was dragged off.

"What in Sam Hell happened to ya boys?" Engineer demanded, withstraining Scout by a sort of full nelson hold. Scout stopped, he was unsure of what to say. There was no way his teammates would forget if he said that Spy was his dad. He was already embarrassed of it, so there was no point in fanning the flames. Begrudgingly, he hissed in a cold tone," Ask Spy, he knows everthin'." The small crowd turned to stare at the frenchman who laid at the floor with a black eye, torn clothes, and bleeding face. "Spook…?" Sniper murmured with an icy stare as he glared daggers into the other's soul. Spy remained completely silent and he met Sniper's eyes with a blank expression.

"Dat's it… I-I…" Scout began. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I-I'm goin' on a walk, I'll see ya guys later." The group of people watched him leave slowly and once he had gone out of view, they immediately started shouting and arguing. The runner meandered around, his vision directed straight to the floor. He didn't seem to know where he was going and once he looked up again, he found that he was on the bridge that lead to BLU base.

There was a rule that clearly stated that the two teams were not allowed to kill each other, or complete objectives during ceasefire hours. Maybe, just maybe, he might be able to spy on the BLUs a bit. Scout flattened himself against the wall and glanced through the doorway into the base. It was deserted and empty, deprived of signs of life. Edging in, he creeped along the corridors, pass the grate and up the stairway into the room that connected with the enemy spawn. The runner took this time to examine the area in hopes that it will bring a victory. He stood there for a while, just tapping his chin, deep in thought. It was all a flurry. How would he face Spy again after what the frenchman had said. How would life be? He couldn't just pretend that didn't happen. There was no way he was going to accept it either. That was when he was interrupted from his thoughts by a sudden knife to his throat.

Scout detected the scent of cigarette smoke, he took a sharp intake of breath. _The BLU Spy._ "Why are you here?" the enemy hissed, the knife digging harder into his flesh. "D-Dude! Chill! I was just goin' on a walk and I ended up here!" the bostonian blabbed, putting his hands up in a surrender.

"You seriously think that I'll believe that?! You scouts are more idiotic than I thought."

"Hold on, I want ta ask ya somethin'! Just put the knife down!"

The BLU Spy paused, contemplating this thought. After a while, he finally removed the pressure from the young man's throat and flung him to the ground. Scout heard the sound of a revolver clicking and he glanced up to be greeted with the barrel of the enemy's Ambassador aimed straight for his head. "Make it quick," the frenchman demanded, tapping his foot impatiently. "If you try anything, you won't be dead, but it'll be something much worse."

Scout put his hands up again with a stammer," Look, man. I don't have any weapons, I'm unarmed!" The enemy's expression didn't falter one bit. "Ya see, I-I" the speedster began. He paused, afraid of telling a foe something he hadn't told his teammates. "Did you love someone, like another women?" The BLU Spy cocked an eyebrow in surprise, this was the last thing he'll have expected some snot nosed brat like the RED Scout to ask, before remarking," Where is this going? Just get straight to the point." Scout scratched the nape of his neck, then continued," Well, I think you loved a woman who lives in America… and she had a son… who…" He paused once again. "So pretty much, I'm just askin'... is da BLU Scout ya son?" He had finally forced it out. It was difficult, but he had managed it.

The BLU Spy's eyes widened and he glanced around wildly, expecting his team to suddenly come out of nowhere and yell at him. He gritted his teeth and bent down, hoisting the scout up by his collar. "Who told you that?!" the frenchman hissed, spit flinging into the younger man's face. "Our Spy… our Spy told me he was my father…" Scout admitted, looking defenseless as a kitten in the hands of his enemy. The Spy released the runner with disbelief and anger. "That imbécile! We agreed that we wouldn't tell anyone!" he cursed, turning around and pacing about the room. "Ya what?" the bostonian gasped walking forward. "Ya should tell yer Scout before he goes crazy on ya! He's gonna get mad, trust me!" The frenchman shook his head and clasped his fingers together. He inhaled and exhaled steadily before muttering," Promise me. Promise me you won't tell him." Scout gawked, he was unsure of what to do. He babbled before finally giving in. "Fine. I won't."


	14. Chapter 14: Letters

After 4 months I have finally updated B))) not that many people are following the story but woah I just finished typing up chapter 16.

It's been so long I've forgotten how to write the mercs this is bad (well not that I knew how to do them since the beginning anyway). Don't worry about this and the next chapters, they're both pretty old so I promise there will be some at least semi decent writing? Sorta? Well, I hope so. I'm suffering a bit of a writer's block lately. If I were to be honest, I'll say the end is in sight in 3-6 chapters.

I mainly will just be happy to finish this thing! At long last! No longer will I be plagued by the ghost of this and my bad writing any longer!

First step of commitment: write a fanfiction that has at least 20,000 words

I hope none of my friends are reading this 😔 There can be no bigger mistake than telling them your account.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Letters**

Scout didn't know what to do. Well, more of Scout had not known what to do. It's been a month. A full month. Soldier, Demoman, Medic, and Pyro had already taken their weekly turns with cooking the meals. Soldier was an enthusiast of creating foods that mainly consisted of bread, but Scout was luckily warned beforehand about the patriotic American's cooking, and had pretended to eat it. Demoman was only a tad better. It wasn't the greatest thing to have a Scotsman wearing the chef's hat because of his uncanny talent for making food from organs like haggis. Then, there was Medic. Oh, where could Scout start on him! The doctor was smart, sure, and can follow a recipe, but we're talking about Medic here. The team always had to be careful when eating their dear doc's food, lest there be an eyeball or a piece of rabbit brain mixed in there as an experiment. After, was Pyro. At least the only thing Pyro did was burn food. Pyro had the reputation to do that because- well- their name was Pyro! If Engineer was there and managed to stop the firebug in time, they would actually have pretty excellent cooking for their meal!

Scout sat at the desk in his room. He had his feet in criss cross in his wooden chair, twirling a pencil tattered with bite marks between his fingers. A blank piece of paper laid in front of him and the only things written was, "Dear Ma." Work had gone the same as usual, except one big difference. There was no french accented voice that often chimed in as an insult to a teammate's remark. At first, it was a sort of a relief to the speedster, but it began to well up into loneliness. This loneliness wasn't just any type of loneliness. It was a hollow pang like hunger and a twisting regretful needle that jammed itself in the pit of his stomach. He and the rest of RED had attempted to get Spy to talk to them more often, but all they gotten was a curt nod or noncommittal noise/action and he'll cloak or walk away.

Scout crashed his train of thoughts with a hefty sign and twirled the pencil in his fingers again. What could he write?

 _Dear Ma,_

 _We've been way too out of touch. Things have been crazy and it sucks that we don't talk that much-_

Nah, sounded way too nerdy, like some antisocial wimp who was writing with a broken arm. The Bostonian tapped his chin thoughtfully. He quickly erased his words and put pencil to paper once more.

 _Hey, hows it going?_

Too casual. The sound of erasing filled the room.

 _Hi, Ma!_

Yup, that was just right. He continued writing, the soft sound of pencil scratching the paper was rhythmic.

 _So, I wanted to ask about Dad._

Too straightforward.

 _I don't want to sound bad, but I wanna ask about Dad._

No, that didn't sound right.

 _I don't mean to put crap all in your face like "oh hey!" but we need to talk about something. Something like Dad._

Scout brightened up and nodded, eyes glittering with hope.

 _I think I met him._

What? How would Ma react to seeing that?! He scrapped that sentence and went back to thinking. There was much erasing and much writing and a pile of eraser shavings piled up in a corner of the table, but in the end, Scout was satisfied. The letter went a little something like this:

 _Dear Ma,_

 _Hi, Ma! I don't mean to put crap all in your face like "oh hey!" but we need to talk about something. Something like Dad. I'm sorry, I know it's a sensitive topic, but I gotta talk about it you know? It's been 20 years and I've been killing to know for the longest time. What was Dad like and why did he leave? I always said that if I found Dad, I'll make him pay, but I'm not too sure that's what I should do anymore. You gotta tell me, alright? You know, just in case I meet him and he accidentally told me and I beat the shit out of him? Thanks._

 _\- From, Jeremy_

Scout never sent letters. Well, at least not often. The last time he did was a while ago and Engineer had accidentally put out the power by wiring it up along to one of his dispensers. The power was out for a week before they could fix it and Ma might as well have died from worry or something because her youngest son didn't keep in contact- or at least that's what he thought. He didn't have the heart to call his mother and ask her himself, putting his thoughts into a piece of paper was much easier for the apprehensive youth.

The Bostonian reread the sentence, nodding at every word he found right. His mind was surprisingly clear as he folded the paper and shoved it into a plain white envelope. He swiftly licked the top and sealed it with one sharp movement. Within five minutes, he had already stepped outside of base and carefully placed the letter in the mailbox, placing the tab on the side up. It occurred to Scout that who would come all the way into a desert in the middle of nowhere to pick up mail, but he decided not to question it too much. He rotated on his heel and pulled open the door back into the wooden structure and reentered, locking it behind him. His throat felt particularly parched, so he decided to get a drink from the kitchen. On the way there, he entered the dining room and found everyone seated at the table, discussing about something he wasn't invited to.

"Yo, when was all of this planned?" Scout questioned, not bothering to hide his accusatory tone. "Calm down, little man. We are talking transportation," Heavy stated without a hint of troubleness or irritation.

"Transportation?"

"Da, transportation."

"Transportation ta where?"

Engineer rubbed his ungloved thumb over the corner of a piece of paper Scout hadn't noticed. He mused, "Well, son. After nine weeks, we move to a new location. At Teufort, we protect the intelligence. There are other places with different objectives. Last time, we were at Upward and we were suppose to stop bombs that were pushed our way and push our own bombs to the BLUs." He pinned his eyes on the paper which was a map and stared at it thoughtfully. "This time, we're travellin' to Harvest and there's a train that will pick us up and take us there. Make sure to drop yer weapons into the weapon crate or it won't be taken to the next area." Spy glared at Engineer, eyebrow cocked and gave him one of those expectant looks only he was capable of. The Texan scratched at his covered head and sighed, "And, Spy and Sniper won't join us. They got some diddly do about ridin' in their cars-"

"Camper," Sniper interjected.

"Expensive ravishing sportscar," Spy corrected.

Both mercenaries who interrupted their coworker, turned to each other, glaring daggers and challenging looks. Engineer gazed at both of them slowly, his electric blue eyes shining underneath those dark goggles of his. Seeing that, both Australian and Frenchie silenced. "-as I was sayin'. The train will pick us up next Saturday mornin', 7 A.M. sharp. So, if yer late, it won't wait for ya. The trip will take all day and we should get to Harvest at 8 P.M. Ya boys got that?" The REDs nodded and murmured their agreement. "Spy and Sniper will follow the train on a separate road, but should still be able to see the train and get there 'bout the same time."

Soldier glanced up sharply and huffed, "Question." Engineer turned to his fellow co worker and replied, "What's yer question, Soldier?"

"Will I be on the train?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Engineer gazed at his team and called out, "Anymore questions?" When no one came to object, he nodded. "Alright. Make sure ya'll are packed and get ready when the time comes." The meeting dispersed and the mercs headed to do what they desired.

A week passed and work had just ended on Friday. Everyday after he had sent the letter, Scout was always seen in front of the mailbox, checking it urgently. There were questions for why he was there and what he was waiting for, but he never answered. It was another day once more and the first thing that happened was the youth speeding to the exit of the base. He swiftly kicked open the door and unlatched the mailbox's lid. There, sitting contentedly, was a letter. It was literally pulling the ribbon off a present on Smissmas morning, as Scout dashed back into his room and ripped open the envelope. He unfolded the paper and observed the tiny but neat writing, noticing small stains that suggested dried tears. The letter said this:

 _Dear Jeremy,_

 _I've been wondering why you hadn't talked to me yet and I was going to call you to smack you upside the head until I got this message. I'm so sorry for dodging the question for the last decades, but I guess I should come clean. I can't hold this from my sons forever. Your dad was always elusive and kinda strange. He was a man of mystery, that was certain. Yet, he still loved me. We had been together for several months and you could say, we were as thick as thieves. He always knew how to make me feel special and gave me the best gifts, but it couldn't be that way forever. He had to leave me for some job that he had signed a long time ago. At first, I was very angry, but it turned out that he needed to keep me safe and sent me to a remote location that I wasn't going to be detected, in the big city of Boston. He was the one who got the yellow house for us and said that he couldn't keep in contact, but presents and packages still showed up on my door once a month from an anonymous giver, which I knew must be him. It's been such a long time and I miss him so much. If you ever meet him or see him, promise me you won't do anything stupid._

 _Love, your Ma_

Scout wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure what to think. He just held the letter in an iron grip, silent and constantly rereading it. He looked for some sign, his eyes crisscrossing over the words. He kept just gazing at it in a glazed stupor. He hadn't even realized he fell asleep, the paper limp in his clenched hand and his hat bowed over his head. He awoke to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on the roof. A splitting headache shrieked as he clutched his forehead with a grunt of agony. The runner groaned, leaving the letter on the table as he turned around and sluggishly shuffled out. It was late and he had missed dinner. Staggering to the medical bay in hopes of getting some medicine to fix the sensation of his head cracking apart. As he approached, he heard the sounds of rhythmic and melancholy violin playing. It was amazing. There were moments where it would crescendo into loud swaying emotional swings and then quiet until he had to strain to hear. His heart leaped into his throat as he listened to this playing. All of a sudden, the music paused and Medic appeared, throwing open the doors. He wore a small smile of genuine satisfaction and he caressed the strings of the violin he was holding. Not noticing Scout, the doctor strode off somewhere. Scout was about to follow him, but decided against it when he heard a snore emit from the medic bay. He tiptoed over and opened the door a crack to see inside the plain white room that smelled of antibacterial wipes, iron, and a hint of alcohol.

Spy was collapsed on one of the tables there, his head in his arms with one of his hands clutching a shot glass. Bellowing snores emerged from his agape mouth. It seems had had fallen asleep drinking and listening to Medic's violin playing. Every so often, he would murmur something in his sleep and tremble a bit with a conflicted expression. Sympathy washed in Scout like a wave as he bit his lip. This man wasn't the best father, that was sure, but he still was one and he cared for his former lover.

Scout smiled softly as he noticed a pile of blankets stacked up in the corner. He removed the first one on the pile and draped it over Spy's prone and shuddering body. "Sleep well, Spy," he muttered, giving his father a small pat on the back with a slight grin, before pushing open the medic bay doors and walking away.


End file.
